Like Father
by casuallllfollower
Summary: Fractures of Erik's life and what it would have been like if his father had been there to sway the hands of fate. Lots of fluff, completely indulgent.
1. Set 1

_A/N: So, this styling is a little bit different than what most people are used to. Like Father, is going to be a set of vignettes, or short bursts of the story with only the important parts. Also, it's just one big fluffy dream except for a couple tiny parts. I hope you enjoy nonetheless if you're looking for something a little sweet!_

* * *

Charles rushed home as fast as he could when he heard that his wife was going into labor. There had been no bigger thrill in his life than this child coming up, possibly besides marrying his wife, but he could not think on it for he needed to go as fast as his legs would carry him. The stairs proved no obstacle, and soon enough he was in the room where his wife, the midwife, a priest, and his newborn child resided.

There was only one problem, and that was that his frantic smile was met with sad frowns and anger.

He'd done his best to get there on time, but locating him wasn't always the easiest feat in the world when one is working on the building of an entire opera house.

"What's the matter? I came as fast I could, Madeleine, I truly did."

His beautiful wife only scoffed, "I don't care when you got here… that thing I gave birth to is a monster! I would have him killed if it weren't for the father's caution of sin."

So he had a son? He couldn't be happier at the news, but his heart hurt at his wife's words. Not sure where to focus, he decided that he should start on his wife's anger.

"What do you mean hideous? He's a baby, he won't look exactly like his father just yet," Charles said proudly in a joking manner, but it wasn't enough apparently to assuage _anyone_.

"Why don't you go look at it…" Madeleine sneered. "Won't look like anything at all if you ask me."

With a heavy sigh, Charles walked over to where the priest prayed over his newborn child, an innocent life that seemed already to have halted the world. The boy was… small, and for all the trouble and weight he'd given Madeleine, Charles was already proud of his son. His limbs were all very pale and thin, each one looking unlike any other chubby infant he had seen come from the wombs of other women. His face… well, he'd seen many construction accidents in his career, so Charles did not wince when he saw the missing cartilage of a nose or sunk in eyes. Really, his eyes were just set back further than most others, and when they opened, they were a beautiful blue as all infants eyes were.

He saw no monster in the bassinet… only his child, a son that he already cherished and wished to give the world to. How could Madeleine say such terrible things of her son?

"He's so precious, Madeleine. And he's our son, how could you think differently?" Charles asked as he turned on her, the woman only looking at him with disgust.

"You can have the little beast all to yourself, I don't want anything to do with it! It was born for sin."

"Get out," Charles growled back suddenly, his hand balancing on his son's bassinet with a fierce protection that he wished he didn't have to use. "I want you out! If you cannot love our son, then you cannot obviously love me! I don't ever want to see your face again!"

"You can't do that, sir!" The midwife seemed highly offended, but Charles couldn't stand her presence either if she was going to defend a mother turning away her own child, "She's still very weak, her body has gone through immense changes!"

"I do not care," he menaced in reply, "Throw her out on the streets in the bed, I will not have her in my home."

"This is my home," Madeleine said loudly, looking at him with a fire he'd loved in her for so many years. Now it irked him beyond imagination.

"I built it and paid for all of the things in which to do so, I don't think this home belongs to anyone but me."

This seemed to quell the room, and Charles turned suddenly to the priest.

"Father, thank you for saving my son from her despicable thoughts, I would ask you your name."

The man seemed to look at the child warily, but with a pity that Charles could understand.

"Father Erik."

"Then I want to use your name, if you will, to bless my child. Yours and mine. Erik Charles Destler."

He tried to ignore the fact that the Father looked mildly concerned they were sanctioning this child's life under God, but he did not hesitate until he was interrupted.

"You cannot baptize the devil!" Madeleine seethed from her bed.

This time, she had truly crossed a line, and with a certainty he had not ever felt before, Charles _hated _Madeleine.

"Either remain silent or be sent to the madhouse!"

This scared Madeleine, as he knew how much she abhorred the strange people they kept within those places, and he did relish a bit in the fear he put into her.

With shaking hands during a moment which should have been all smiles and love, Charles reached for his silent child.

"Oh, my son. You're going to live a very good life," he promised the frail little boy in his arms, "And I will let no one stand in the way of your happiness."

* * *

Charles paced nervously in the house as the fifth wetnurse that day had come and gone from the house in either terror or complete rejection of his boy. Taking the day off from the construction of the opera, he had hoped to find someone to fill the role before the milk they'd been able to provide for Erik ran out. He needed a woman's touch, but the day was waining, and Paris only had so many nursing women in the city willing to even meet with them in the first place.

There was another one scheduled to meet them in a few minutes, and since Erik was such a quiet infant, Charles had been checking on him periodically, making sure he didn't need anything. Well, there was also that forboding feeling that at any moment his son could be taken from him. Erik was so small and fragile, and Charles didn't know what he would do if he was left alone again… or if his heart was broken for the second time that week.

Picking up the small boy, who was unfortunately half Madeleine as much as half of himself, Charles thought about the previous night in his bed. It was lonely laying in the large room he'd built for them with just him. And even though he probably wasn't supposed to do it, he'd brought his child into the bed if only for the presence he lacked of a wife. Not only did it provide him comfort from missing his horrid spouse, but it gave him satisfaction to hear the little raspy breaths of his son.

Charles looked at Erik, holding the twice swaddled child in his arms. His odd eyes were wide open, taking everything in, and yet he still did not cry. Everything was new, and if Charles were in his position, he certainly would be screaming at seeing so many horrified faces. He wouldn't let his son get used to the looks however… not in a million years.

"Is this the baby?"

Charles was startled as his head snapped up to look into the doorway of his room where a young woman stood, her smile unwavering as she pointed at his son. He was slightly unnerved by it, actually, seeing as for the whole of the entire day he'd gotten strange looks and screams when they saw Erik. This girl, however, seemed to look right at the boy without blinking an eye.

"Yes." It was all he could muster.

"May I hold him?"

He began to shake again, thinking it worth mentioning that Erik was fragile and extremely quiet.

The woman approached him with her arms held out, seemingly very confident with what she was about to do, saying gently, "I can see that. Poor thing! He looks like he's in need of an extra meal or two."

The only thing that seemed to unnerve the woman who now held Charles' most prized creation was the fact that Erik was looking right back at her as she did to him. There was knowledge already behind those eyes, and he was more than ready to foster whatever whims his little boy had.

She looked up, biting her lip a little before saying, "Why don't you leave the room, and I'll see if he takes to me?"

"Right," he replied quickly, shaking his head as his eyes stayed with Erik. He didn't entirely know how he felt about leaving him after spending every moment since he'd arrived back at the house with him. That, and his parental fear that she would do something awful to him stuck to him harshly.

Charles rushed off, deciding to do it quickly so as to not linger, and though this was what he was hoping for, he was still astonished that someone had been willing to try! Oh, now he hoped that his boy truly was smart and would take to the woman offering him a chance at life.

He paced for what felt like hours away from them both, and yet it had truly only been seven minutes when the woman came and found him with Erik safely tucked in her arms. Charles didn't realize he'd reached for his son until he was once again back where he belonged.

"He seems to like me, and since my boy just recently passed… I'd be happy to be his nursemaid as well."

Charles could not have been happier, but he also had to acknowledge that not only was this woman a complete stranger ready to care for his son… but she'd just lost her own baby, and that wasn't easy, even he knew that. He held a bit more fiercely to Erik.

"I don't think I could be more thankful, Madame…"

"Oh!" She laughed loudly, "Actually, it's Mademoiselle Cateline Merte, at your service Monsieur Destler."

"You've heard of me then?" Charles wondered with a grin, ignoring the fact that she had had a child but was not married. Those who were sent for the position of wetnurse had only been told an address.

"Yes, well, mostly because you're one of the men working on the opera house. I've heard it's going to be the talk of Paris! And then your wife rejecting your son? I'm sorry, word simply travels rather fast around here," she mumbled, her hands clasped behind her back obviously very nervous.

"That it does. I'm glad he accepted you, though, I doubt any of the other women would have so willingly accepted him. As you are aware he is rather odd-" Charles tried to excuse Erik's appearance, not sure if her blindness after losing her own son was the only reason for accepting him, but he was interrupted by shaking hands in the air.

"Monsieur, I was… attacked. This is how I obtained my son, and though he was not born with his life, he was not born with ears either. He looked so fragile, and I hated the man who hurt me even more blaming it on him, but if he had lived I wouldn't have loved him any less. It isn't his fault. Therefor it is not your little boy's fault here that he looks the way he does, but neither is it yours or your wife's."

Charles was flooded with several different emotions, but he did so very much want to make sure that Mademoiselle Merte was compensated greatly for her charity and kindness.

"Then my son is yours to take care of, Mademoiselle. I trust you, wholeheartedly. And if there is anything you need, when I return in the evenings from the opera house, you just let me know and I will do everything in my power to obtain it for you."

He stuck out his hand for her to shake after adjusting Erik, feeling that it was appropriate in the moment. She merely looked at his hand with a sad smile and said, "I'd prefer not to touch you, Monsieur. Babies are fine, but I think very often of-"

"Say no more," Charles insisted, wondering how anyone could ever be such a monster as to lay an unwanted hand on a woman. They were delicate things that should be cherished, not torn apart.

"Thank you. I will travel back and get my things. My family was hoping I would get this job. No one has really heard why your son was rejected, but someone like Madeleine… I'm sorry Monsieur, I shouldn't speak ill of you wife."

Huffing lightly, looking at Erik with a sad smile, Charles shook his head.

"I love her, but she hated him, and I had to put him first."

"Understood."

He waved her on, and with that, she was gone, returning a bit later to which he had prepared a dinner for them both. One of his many talents, for Madeleine had been a very poor cook. Yet, now that he thought about it, she'd been a poor wife in general, and he was glad to share a meal with someone who appreciated it. That, and as Erik took in everything he could from the bassinet between his other house mates, he was beginning to look forward to the future with his son.

* * *

It was several months later when Erik was toddling around, crawling, getting into things, and completely showing off. He was a rather well-behaved boy unless you wanted him to do something he did not care for, and Charles found that there were only two things Erik did not care for. One was sleeping, and the other just so happened to be going to church.

Wide eyes constantly watched what was happening, taking in everything about him, and very pristine ears listened now, too. The few words he could speak were all perfectly formed, and every time he was able to say something new, it was also perfect like the others. A boy so young, and yet he was somehow already a perfectionist like his father.

The opera house was looking positively wonderful, and a few times Charles had even taken Erik there, explaining to him what it was going to be used for. Erik couldn't seem to take his eyes off the place when they went, and he was already more than proud of the boy.

Charles was also infinitely impressed by Cateline who was almost like a real mother to Erik. The boy adored her, and she was often the only one who could get him to do the things he did not want to. She told Charles every day that it was just because he was too soft on the boy, but everyone was so hard, he sometimes struggled to be a father to him.

But Charles never really needed to reprimand Erik. He had grown slightly healthier with the nutrition of a proper diet, and though he was still skinnier than most of the other children, he did not look so skeletal as when he was born. There was a bit of fat under his skin now, and even his face had filled into a little bit of what classic baby cheeks were like, giving him a less ghostly appearance.

Erik would often deny food in favor of whatever he had his hands on. The wooden toys Charles provided him with always seeming to be disassembled, to Cateline's dismay. He would put them back together, and then she would shake her head, giving it back to the small boy, betting Charles on how long it will last this time.

She would get good at the bets, then Charles would make Erik a new toy.

He did not miss Madeleine much anymore. More than anyone in the town, he had adored his wife, but she so easily had betrayed him and fell prey to her vanity. He had known somewhere deep inside that she'd married him for looks, but he didn't think anyone was capable of such heartlessness as she. Obviously he was wrong.

Cateline, on the other hand, did not seem to have a vein bone in her body. While she was very pretty (Charles was not blind) she seemed to only care for Erik, and sometimes even Charles himself. She cooked occasionally, and she kept up after their little crawling charge as though she was born to do so.

Erik laid on his back in the middle of the floor sometimes, a blanket underneath him as he stared blankly at the ceiling. Charles knew his son was strange, at worst, but it was moments like this when he wanted to tap into the genius he thought was nurtured into his son. The boy would stare for hours or minutes, both an equal possibility, and he would not move or make a noise as he did so. The fact that his eyes were also yellow, and not green like his own or Madeleine's was also odd. Thick, black hair was a common characteristic, however, and he had grown a plentiful amount of that.

Today, as Charles drank his tea and read over the plans for the next day at the opera house, it seemed to be one of Erik's shorter time spans upon the floor. He excited back to life and rushed to Cateline as fast as his movements could take him. She set down her sewing and cooed at the baby, picking him up and setting him in her lap.

Charles looked away as she fed him. They were waning him off such things considering he could speak words at seven months old, but still he required a mother's nutrition.

Over the past seven months, six of which he'd spent healing over the heartbreak of Madeleine, Charles had grown mildly… attached to Cateline. She was very pretty, and though he hadn't ever touched her in respect to her previously mentioned problems, he often wondered what it would have been like having a woman who would have cared for Erik the moment he was birthed. To not have had the turmoil he so unfortunately started out with.

He was also not ignorant to the fact that he himself was an attractive man by the day's standards. Madeleine had been so very vain, and this was how Charles discovered his own attraction. She had been sweet, and even looked forward to meeting the child, but obviously there was a limit to her love. Yet Cateline could often catch him staring, a shy smile on her lips whenever he did so.

Regardless of it all, Charles simply kept on living, doing his work at the opera and saving for Erik's future. He knew it wouldn't be easy, but great things were going to come of his boy, and if he could make that easier in any way possible… then Charles would move mountains for a boy who could so far barely move himself.


	2. Set 2

Erik had just turned two when Charles thought he'd discovered his most true talent.

The opera was finally finished, and with great joy, Charles had presented it to the people he had been commissioned by. The building was perfect, and everyone thought so. Hiring to fill the grand opera was done immediately, and Charles had somehow wormed his way into the folds of many aristocrats as he was showed off as the man behind the genius.

It seemed that there was no shortage of work after that, which made a him a suddenly wealthy man, able to hire people to do his job and leave simply the designing to himself. This also gave him ample time to accept the position of partner in the opera house, seeing as he'd put some of his own money into the Palais Garnier's completion anyways. Though his place was small, it was more than enough.

The first opera was coming to the Garnier that same year, and yet he had box seats with the managers, every seat in the house otherwise occupied with the wealthiest people in France. Charles, of course, would not have gone unless Erik and Cateline were also allowed to attend.

Erik was not shy. For most of his two years, all the interactions he'd had were with the few people at church and then those who took care of him, so the large crowd was intimidating. Charles nor Cateline hid what the boy looked like from him, but they simply explained that he was different. Of course, Erik did not like this answer, but they could do little to say anything else.

He learned only too quickly at the opera why he was different.

People looked at Erik very oddly. While some of him was normal, there was one large part of him that did not fit in with the rest. Those who stared usually said nothing, but some whispered, and others gagged if they were especially cruel. None, however, were as cruel as Madeleine had been to the poor boy. It was a shame, Charles thought, that the one who should love him most had given him the cruelest rejection of them all.

When they got to the box, having warned the couple what Erik looked like, the managers were frankly polite with him. Monsieur Brenel shook Erik's hand, and the Madame waved secretly at him, giving him a sure smile.

He warmed up very quickly to them, asking roughly a million questions and making Charles rather proud for braving the crowd to make it to that point where he could be comfortable around people. Making friends in high places such as the opera would make Erik's life much easier, but something in Charles still told him that no matter what, his boy would struggle.

It was as they ran around the theater congratulating the performers (most of whom did not dare question Erik when he was introduced by the Monsieur and Madame Brenel) that Erik found a piano in one of the rooms and took to the instrument like a moth to flame.

Charles had heard nothing like what his son was capable of until that day. Even the opera that they'd just witnessed was bland compared to the simple but melodious notes his son created on the piano.

And while just the age of two, this boy seemed to know the instrument better than he knew the letters and words Cateline had been teaching him.

Charles, forever the encouraging father, decided that maybe it was time he took his old piano down from the attic.

* * *

Charles was damn near sure his five year old son was smarter than him.

Not only did he know fluent French now, but he also had learned a whole other language as well, consuming anything that he could get his hands on. They'd run out of books in the house, and more times than not, Charles brought home a new reel of parchment for Erik to scribble music notes upon.

Besides the true forms of academics, the boy was extremely insightful.

They were sitting by the fire that evening, Erik poured over a thick book as Charles sketched out a third home for one of his new projects. At this point he did not even need the money, but there would always be people who needed homes and various architectures. It was a duty to those around him, not to mention his passion.

Cateline was cooking them supper, her busy self pestering over the stove and vegetables. The kitchen and living room had always been connected, the large spaces mirroring one-another with the entrance way in the middle with a set of lovely stairs Madeleine had insisted on so many years ago. Charles had a perfect view of Cateline as he worked, someone who he dearly considered a friend.

She was always graceful when she did anything, and though she hadn't needed to stay on with Erik as advanced as he was, she had paid no mind to Charles attempting to persuade her to get a life outside the house. Cateline had merely laughed and told him that she wouldn't give up helping raise Erik, then after a whole year of working for him and never laying a hand on him, she'd rushed in for a hug.

Charles had truly fancied her ever since.

Of course, he thought he hid it well from both of them when as he watched her cook, his son came out of nowhere and spoke.

"Why do you not tell Cateline that you enjoy her?"

As smart as he was, Erik did not necessarily understand what love between a man and a woman was. Not… _entirely _anyways.

Charles was taken aback by the boy, looking at his yellow eyes with an agape mouth.

"It's obvious," Erik continued, getting into his lap to which Charles still struggled to respond, "I mean, you two look at each other all the time. Monsieur and Madame Brenel look at one-another that way."

"She's… been through a lot, Erik," Charles attempted to explain, still feeling as though he'd just been filleted.

"But you make her happy."

"And so do you," he replied quickly, tapping the bridge of what little a nose Erik had.

The boy shook his head, as if shaking the contact off.

And as if to prove Erik's point, Cateline happened to look back at them, giving them a big smile before returning to her vegetable cutting.

"See," his son whispered heatedly. Then more slightly to himself, the boy muttered, "And I've always wanted a mother."

Charles did not like lying to his son, and in fact, he'd done his best to never hide anything from him. Erik was strong, and despite the kindness he had received, it did not equal the amount of hate he'd received. People were very cruel, yelling at a small boy that he was misshapen or ugly. Some strangers were simply disgusting, and it made Charles want to hide him away from the world, but he knew that would only cause him more grief if he could not deal with the inevitable.

Despite the honesty, Charles had never told Erik about Madeleine's reaction to him. Erik knew his mother had gone, but the things Charles told him were all vague and without many details.

He never imagined that it made Erik yearn for someone he could call mother. Cateline had treated him like her own since she'd first held him, and while some part of Charles yearned for a companion as much as his son did a mother… he couldn't betray her trust in him like that.

To tell her that he developed feelings for her… what would she say? She'd been through one of the worst ordeals a woman could experience, and to tell her that he'd wanted something from her besides help? Charles felt like scum. Those wants weren't his place.

"Erik, she's the closest thing you'll get to a mother already, what does my relationship with her matter? I think we're happy like this anyways."

Erik did not like this answer, but he perked up a little when Cateline called to them that their meal was prepared.

All through dinner, however, it was obvious that the boy was stuck in a rush of thoughts like when he'd lie on the blankets as an infant and simply stare at the ceiling.

Charles discovered the ramifications of the boy's plotting when a knock came to his door that evening as he laid in his bed, going over some plans for the upcoming project.

"Come in!" He called, somewhat surprised when it was Cateline, dressed in her nightwear and looking rather amused.

"Erik just told me something I found quite interesting."

Charles' heart skipped roughly a hundred beats. Did Erik's hobbies include meddling now? Oh, that boy would be in severe trouble in the morning.

"He said," Cateline continued, seeing as he couldn't muster up an appropriate response, "that you, over the past four years, have developed something more than friendship for me."

Charles felt even more uncomfortable by this whole situation since he was lying in his bed, completely vulnerable as she stood a few feet away from the edge of it.

"He's just a child, Cateline. I think he just rather craves a mother and…" Charles trailed off as she looked disappointed. He dared not hope, however, as he'd had his heart hurt too painfully to once again get let down. At least she would be merciful about it.

"Maybe it's foolish of me, but a small part of me was hoping that he was right if only for the amusement of it."

She was covering up what she assumed would be a blunder, but suddenly Charles felt like he could hope again. He stood from the bed, almost too eagerly as he watched the fear arise in her worried eyes.

"I suppose that maybe he could have been speaking some truth. He is far smarter than either of us," Charles jested, walking forward and watching as she opened up to him.

He put his hands on her waist, so few layers on her body than during the day, and he couldn't help but close his eyes. She'd been so far away for far too long, and as her hands were delicately placed on his chest, he relished in their closeness.

"Oh god," she muttered blissfully, her head falling where her hands were, and Charles' embrace deepened.

Bodies pressed against one-another, they jolted in surprise when a smaller, thinner body joined them from the outside.

"Erik! You are supposed to be in bed young man!" Charles scolded the still-smiling child halfheartedly, as they all pulled away. He wasn't sure how to go about thanking and reprimanding Erik all in one go.

"Listen to your father, Erik," Cateline said, "We will deal with you tomorrow."

He ran straight back to his room with the largest grin, and Charles let loose a laugh he'd been trying to make sure the boy did not hear.

"He's going to get a complex if he keeps being right all of the time," she whispered to him as he calmed, once again closing his eyes as she touched him, even if it was simply the intertwining of their fingers.

"I do not doubt it."

Looking down at the young woman in his arms, Charles couldn't help himself. He'd spent four years thinking she deserved so much more… that he didn't deserve anyone at all, but if she was willing to even reciprocate such feelings, he was blessed.

"Cateline, I think you should know before this goes any further, that I cannot ever properly be a husband to you."

She furrowed her brows, hand loosening slightly at the comment.

"Whatever do you mean? I don't care that we've both had two deformed children, Charles-"

"No," he interrupted quickly, knowing that if the oddities did happen to occur again in a child they could one day possibly create out of pure love (he was wishfully thinking now!), he would love the child no less. "I never annulled my marriage with Madeleine. I put her on the streets before I could think of the ramifications. But even in my haste I thought I would only ever have Erik to love."

"And do you love me, Monsieur Destler?"

She asked so innocently. It had been mere moments since they even acknowledged feelings for one-another, but they'd been in the same house for over four years now. They could run head-first and no one would likely even notice a difference.

"I think I do, Mademoiselle Merte, I think I do."

Cateline spoke her positive response, and with the seal of a very chaste kiss that she herself initiated, Charles had now acquired the second best day of his life.

* * *

Elated beyond belief, Charles watched as Erik peered over the bassinet at the lively little girl encased there. Cateline was sleeping, her serene face covered in sweat and a soft smile. He stood over her, seeing as she'd done so much work to bring their perfect, living bundle of joy into the world but hours ago. She'd been fed and clothed, and introduced to her half brother.

So, Charles was happy that Erik seemed so enraptured by the little thing.

He gave her one of his fingers to clutch, a small and pink hand accepting it with wild shakes and coos. Such delicacy came of the boy that Charles had no doubt he knew how to handle her and did not need to educate him on her handling.

He'd already played for her a million times while she was carefully ensconced in Cateline's womb, but the moment Erik heard cries he'd popped into the room and demanded he play for her new and sensitive ears. And hadn't Cateline been the darling who obliged?

She handed the little girl over to Charles and they went off, serenading her into sleep with Erik's music that he'd prepared specifically for his little sister.

Of course the sleep and parting from her tired mother hadn't lasted long, and they came back to the room, the normal routine happening all over again.

This brought them to now as Charles watched an adoring brother let his baby sister tug at his lengthy limbs.

At the age of seven, Erik was a very tall boy. He was taller than all of his friends at church, but he was smarter than them all too. It hadn't taken long for the children to warm up to Erik, not when they realized that despite his face, he could act just like them… if not a slightly bit more articulate and acclimated to the world.

When he earned his finger back, Erik leaned on the bassinet and became pensive.

If he hadn't been paying attention, Charles would have certainly missed the sentiment from his boy.

"She doesn't look like me."

Charles' heart sank.

What Erik yearned most, he felt, was someone who acted like him or at least looked the same. To bond with someone like that would have made the boy's entire existence, but unfortunately it seemed that Erik was the only boy in the world with the scars on his face.

"It's okay, you know?" He spoke to his son, walking over and looking at his little girl with Erik.

"I just wish I looked like her."

"Erik," Charles said meaningfully, kneeling down so that way he was somewhat eye to eye with him, "You cannot compare yourself to her. You were born of a whole separate person than her… and you are so loved despite whatever you think you might look like. Your face shouldn't matter to anyone who means _anything _to you."

"I just wished things were different sometimes."

Charles nodded, feeling he agreed wholeheartedly with his son.

"We should count our blessings anyways, Erik. Besides, I already think that little Marcy loves you."

Erik looked over at the silent little girl and smiled, Charles easing at the sight.

"I love you too, Marcy."

He had been rather insistent to not name her anything that could even remind them of Madeleine, but Cateline had so desperately wanted to name the little girl after her grandmother that he couldn't deny her.

Marcy suddenly began to fuss as Erik watched over her, and the poor boy startled so significantly that he went even paler than his usual white. He locked eyes with Charles in a silent question of what should he do, to which Charles decided that it was best handled by her mother.

Yet, as he walked over to wake his love, he heard the most angelic sound to ever be produced. Now, Charles knew his son's arsenal of never-ending talents was quite large, but never before had he heard him sing. He was frozen in his spot, unable to move as Marcy calmed down and listened to her brother serenade her so splendidly.

Charles was baffled.

He walked over to Cateline and gently awakened her, feeling that she needed to experience this of their son.

"Charles?" She croaked, looking at him with squinted eyes.

"Hush, listen," he commanded, not caring to be anything but quick as she struggled to awaken.

Her ears found the sound, however, the little miracle that was Erik as he sung to their other little miracle. Cateline almost immediately began to cry.

"He sounds like an angel," she whispered, clutching Charles' hand as she watched the boy dote on Marcy.

"He's our own little genius."

"And he is _ours… _Charles," Cateline determined, "_Our_ little boy."

Charles kissed his lover as the handsomest voice on the planet sang to them, the beauty of it unparalleled. And this was when Charles truly knew that their son was going to become something great.


	3. Set 3

When Erik was twelve he had officially completed any higher schooling Charles or Cateline could afford him. They did not care to send him to University seeing as he did not want to go, but it was one night when he was rubbing his lover's back after a particularly satisfying evening that Charles thought of something grand.

"Why don't we send him to study at the opera house?"

Cateline peered out at him through her hair and rolled onto her side.

"I am to assume you mean Erik? Marcy nor Jesper are old enough to play instruments let alone be taught by those in the conservatory."

Nodding absentmindedly, Charles thought about his son one day becoming an immensely famous composer. Once he had a good foundation of music behind him… his face would no longer matter. He simply wanted everything for the boy who was so good at it all.

"He could learn more instruments than just his piano and violin. And, God in heaven, he could finally show off that voice of his. It would be wonderful for him, I think. He'd love it. To be so surrounded by the noise and people. He does so very much want people to like him, and everyone there knows us. The Brenel's aren't set to retire their hold over the opera for years, so there shouldn't be a problem in getting him in."

Cateline released an amused laugh, Charles finally looking down at her with a curious glance.

"You should let Erik decide his future, darling. I want him to be happy as much as you do, but what if he wants to be an architect like you? Or simply lounge about until he receives his inheritance?"

"That's not an option," Charles growled, "He will be fortuitous of his own design! He has too much motivation to simply sit around and wait for us to die."

More laughter, and he feared they might wake their newest baby, Jesper.

"But he's helped me more than enough times to know that architecture isn't his true passion," Charles continued, putting his hand on her shoulder, brushing the soft skin of her body.

How he loved this woman! She was positively breath taking, and even though he'd loved Madeleine… it was nothing compared to the soulmate before him.

"Well, then say he agrees to learn at the conservatory… how much do you really think they can teach him before he… gets bored?"

"He wouldn't," he replied, completely convinced of his own words, "That's what Erik likes about music. There are trillions upon trillions of combinations, and each one can create some new emotion or whatever he'd like. It's his for the manipulating, and he lives off that control. I think… because he couldn't control his face, he likes to have that dominion."

Hardly even realizing it until he had said it, Charles thought about how true the statement was. Erik had had so little control over his life up until this point, and music was art… there were no rules or controls for it to be.

"You know, despite his deformity, he is a rather strapping young boy. If only he could cover-" she was interrupted with a harsh glare Charles provided.

"Cateline, that is no way to live. If he covered it… people might only think him more strange. I want those who surround him to know who he is before they… judge him."

She sighed, scooting closer to him as she began to gently run her fingers over his chest.

"I'm sorry," she added, "I did not mean to offend you or Erik… I merely meant to say that our son is a growing boy and one day… for those who can see past it, he will be beautiful."

Kissing the top of her head, he said, "And if he could cover it I am sure he would. It isn't healthy, though. Not for the skin or his thoughts."

Music wafted through the halls and they both closed their eyes as he played through the evening. Music was often how he watched his younger siblings, Marcy easily under his spell when he did so and Jesper so highly fascinated with the movements that he couldn't move either. Of course he would play with them, but if he ever got particularly frustrated with the children, that was his go-to method.

"I'll speak to him about the conservatory in the morning."

Cateline nodded, kissing his neck gingerly, "Good."

The next morning, as they sat and ate their morning meal, Charles looked over at his lover and nodded, broaching the subject with Erik.

"Now, Erik… you wouldn't want to go into any fields of study like an apprenticeship or university, right?"

He looked at Charles oddly.

"No."

"What about… studying music and voice at the opera house? Would that be of any-"

"You mean that I could learn from those at the opera?" He asked quickly, sudden intrigue and vitality on his face.

"If you want to, of course. It's completely up to you if that's something you think you can handle?"

Erik gulped, looking overwhelmed by the prospect, "I would brave a million staring eyes if it meant I could be tutored there."

Charles grinned, looking over at Cateline who was rolling her eyes in amusement at her lover's cockiness.

"Then I shall speak with Monsieur and Madame Brenel in the morning."

Overcome with joy, Erik rushed up from the table and ran to his father, embracing him with his large form. Charles was a large man, but Erik was nearly the same size as him at the young age of twelve. He then moved on to Cateline and hugged her as well, giving her a peck on the cheek.

That day was a very good one in the Destler home.

* * *

Eighteen came faster than either Charles or Cateline would have cared for. Their eldest boy was no longer such, but at his towering height and pristine code of dress, he was now a man of theatre. After learning every instrument there was to learn in the conservatory, he moved on to vocals, and then, reluctantly, dance. Erik truly had moved through the motions of the opera and could be a one man show if there were roughly a hundred of him.

His place, after learning all that he could, had been rightfully earned, despite what those who did not care for his face said. There were patrons and higher class idiots who did not look at his talents but his exterior and denied him his talent.

This perturbed Charles to no end, but Erik seemed disinclined to care what others thought of him.

He took first chair violin in the opera house the moment he had turned of age. And every time they needed a conductor to stand in for the orchestra, he easily slipped into this role as well.

At only eighteen, he had much of the opera house in the palm of his hand.

This was absolutely necessary, Charles thought, to pave Erik's way just a slight bit more easily. While the opera performers and staff were used to his face after seeing it for nearly his entire life… those who were new or were merely attending could not say the same. The higher circles knew of him, though, so while there were challenges, the opera had taken no fall because of his presence there.

Charles and Cateline could not be more proud.

Despite being away from them now, living in his own apartment by the opera, Erik still adored his siblings. He brought them through the opera whenever he could, explaining to them this and that. While Marcy was only eleven and Jesper nine, neither seemed to mind spending time with their brother, even if it quite often went over their heads what he spoke of.

Having a true and honest career as the son of the most respected and known architect in Paris did little to keep Erik from growing up and being a man just like everyone else. In fact, because of the ease of his progression of life… his first fall was harder than most people's.

All of his life his father and adoptive mother had been proud as peacocks of him. They had put him on the right path and exposed him to just the right amount of reality for him to know how he would have to deal with the world. Of course… there were aspects they'd never touched with him on like the worse parts of the world such as the one who had bore him or those who he'd never interacted with in his life.

The low-lifes of the street were of no problem to Erik. Charles knew that he was extremely strong, if only from years of working with him whenever he needed help at a project site or lifting up Marcy and Jesper whenever they requested it. It was the influence those around him would have.

Charles visited more frequently than the rest of the family did seeing as he now was a patron himself of the opera house that had risen him to architectural fame. So, therefor, he was the one most likely to have caught on to Erik's sudden change in mood and demeanor as a whole. His usually calm and collected son had turned into a sometimes frantic man who occasionally had fits or outbursts of rage that Charles had never seen before.

He was in one of these fits of rage when Charles visited, and as his father it wasn't hard to tell something else was wrong.

Knocking, Charles entered the small flat and saw Erik, hunched over his piano. They were on the verge of his nineteenth birthday, but with the way he looked physically, Charles wasn't entirely sure he would make it.

"Erik?" He questioned his son, setting down the envelope containing his stipend on the top of the piano, rushing to the boy's side.

"I'm fine," Erik replied to the un-asked question, looking at him with a look of disdain.

"Are you now? You look as though death is on your doorstep, do you need me to call your mother here?"

Rolling his eyes, Erik shot up from the piano bench, nearly knocking his father over. Chalres stood, steadying himself. He wasn't exactly a spring chicken anymore as he was over twice the age of his son.

"Mother can stay where she is, and you can go right back to her for all I care," he said dismissively.

"Do not speak to me that way, boy!"

Erik did not look remorseful. Charles had raised his voice so few times in his life, and being the loud parent hadn't ever been his or his lover's role. This was new, as was the disrespective attitude.

He expected such behavior of Jesper or maybe even Marcy, not Erik. Never their little angel.

"What is the matter with you? You've been strange for weeks, and you haven't come to visit once!"

Erik was pacing the room now, and truthfully, it unnerved Charles. He was used to his pensive little boy, the one who would stare off into space for hours on end or minutes out of the day. When had time slipped by so quickly and what had so drastically changed his son?

"Nothing is the matter, I-" Erik reached up to scratch at his full head of black hair and Charles discovered the culprit with the ease of a trained manager, hardly listening to whatever else the boy had to say for himself.

He'd seen the evidence before, many workers once they were injured would be given morphine for the pain. Some would become addicted, these of which he had to fire, and how he wished his son worked for him so he could do just that!

Anger washed over him as a father, and then sheer disappointment. The marks on his inner arm showing where multiple needles had been stabbed and sunk. His stomach churned. This was his first born son, the one who would carry on the legacy of beauty within someone, not on their outside. But even Chalres had to admit in that moment, that his son's insides looked as bleak as his face did.

"You are using."

"Father," Erik suddenly defended, reaching for him and looking rightfully terrified.

"Don't."

The word was harsh and commanding, Charles' complete and utter depravity showing through his face like the sun through gossamer curtains.

Erik's face fell, and something in those yellow eyes told Charles he might have done the right thing in showing exactly how he felt to the boy. Still, if he was going to be the worthy son of Charles Destler, then Erik was going to have clean back up and realize that however he got it and whoever he got it from was a hell of a lot less important than his family.

"I don't want you anywhere near Jesper or Marcy… or your mother and I for that matter until you clean up, Erik. I don't care how it happened, but it won't happen again. Find another way to kill the pain."

Chalres did not see his son for a whole year after that.

* * *

For the first time in nineteen years, Erik's birthday was not celebrated.

It took him almost no time to throw every drop or spec of morphine he had out, but of course that was the easy part. The come off was much harder, for he had no one there to support him. He took a whole week off from the opera house telling them he'd contracted something terrible, but not exactly being specific either.

He had chills and fever, he vomited more times than he could count, and overall he was just plain miserable. Locking himself in the flat with no access to anything but the sparse foods in his cupboards kept him from going out and finding more, however.

Truth be told, Erik would not have quit if it weren't for seeing the look of disappointment on his father's face for the first time in his entire life. He'd been smart his whole life, Erik knew this, learning instruments and ballet with ease. Numbers never escaped him, and in one year of training under his father, he was probably a better architect than even Charles.

He and Cateline had always been proud of him, showing him the utmost of love as they raised him and nurtured his whimsical fantasies of whatever it was he felt like learning. God, he'd been so spoiled!

The moment he'd gotten to the conservatory, he'd stopped attending mass. Sure there was a chapel and a priest for the ballet rats and other staff who stayed in the opera, but he didn't care for his religion, even if his parents had taught him the ins and outs of it.

But that week he spent coughing, crying, and utterly sick from withdrawal… he'd been on his knees to pray as much as the unused joints would allow.

Shame befell Erik like a building atop his skull, the first time his father was ever disappointed in him being the miserable pinnacle of his otherwise happy existence. While not everyone cared for the way he looked, Erik had accepted it a long time ago. There was no changing it, so why bother to worry? He had all he needed in music and the opera anyways, others be damned!

Losing his family, however, was unacceptable.

Erik hated himself, happy to have gone through the torture of recovery if only to one day feel worthy of having them again.

When his birthday rolled around, Erik did not seek out his family. Obviously they were waiting for him to contact them, his father had been very explicit. He was not to go back to them unless he had something to show for it.

Well, he spent nearly an entire year attempting to scrounge something up, his clean mind a wonderful playground of musical motivation. The sad emotions of not seeing Marcy's beautiful curls or Jesper's lopsided grin fueled Erik's new works. He wrote of anything he could get his hands, and soon enough, when the Brenel's finally announced their retirement and a grand party in their honor, he was happy to have something to present his family.

Literal blood and sweat had gone into the opera he created of love lost and falling to the bottom like an anchor through the ocean. In the end, his Jeanter rose to the top anyways, and hopefully the symbolism would not strike his father wrong.

He was stronger now, and to finally see everyone, Erik waited eagerly for the party which took place just two days after his second uncelebrated birthday.

Twenty years of age, and he looked as nervous as a ten year old.

Having spoken to the Brenel's about his family's attendance, they had confirmed their reservation for four. This was how he knew he could present them his best work to date, though he knew that one day something else would come along to spur another separate work entirely.

Oh, what it would be like to finally see the bright smile Marcy gave him whenever he picked her up… or the glare he got from Jesper whenever he mussed his hair. How tall he would be now at eleven! And Marcy on the cusp of womanhood at thirteen!

Erik could only imagine how much grey had overtaken his father's own black hair in a year, and the slight kiss of age his adoptive mother would carry like a queen carried her precious jewels atop her head.

His breath was stolen when they finally did arrive.

The party was taking place in the main lobby of the opera, where Erik had seen what it looked like before it was ample entertaining space.

He watched as the Brenel's welcomed them and showcased them to the new Bachelor Manager by the name of Monsieur le Farve. He seemed good enough, but as the Brenel's had done, he hoped he kindly took suggestions.

Erik shook his head, having already met the manager, he wondered if his parents mentioned their relation… or maybe Jesper might have popped up excitedly about his big brother?

He needed to get down there immediately.

Erik had purchased an entirely new suit for this reunion, and every part of him was prim and proper. Not a hair out of place besides the marred skin of his face, Erik rushed towards his family in what he hoped looked like composed fashion.

Marcy spotted him first.

"Erik!" She yelled, seeming to drop propriety in favor of a wafting hug, his senses overcome by the beautiful little girl before him.

"You look like a young woman," he told her, attempting to hold back the tears.

"And you look far better than papa said you did so long ago!"

He did not want to let go, but Jesper was eager to get in on the action as well. Seeing as they were at a formal event, Erik did not mess with his brother's hair, but merely took him into a hug as well.

"You must be a foot taller, Jes."

"Almost!" he said back, "I missed you." The words were choked out, as though he was trying to stay strong and manly in front of all the people there.

When he stepped back from his brother, he immediately caught eyes with Cateline and his father, both holding onto one-another rather tightly.

"Father," he addressed curtly, then a bit more softly, "Mother."

She broke first, tears in her eyes as she rushed at him. Now, this was a full sized woman and she took him back slightly, settling into his arms as she cried.

"Oh, my dear boy, I missed you so! Your father wasn't right to keep us away from you-"

"No," he said solemnly, "I wasn't fit to be around you or Marcy and Jesper. I… it wasn't pretty."

"Well," she said, stroking his face as more tears poured from her eyes, "You certainly are now! Look how handsome you've gotten! You look like a dignified prince!"

She backed up, still holding his hand as he glanced over at his father who nodded in approval.

Erik felt the weight of a million operas fall from his shoulders. They hadn't even seen his peace offering and they'd all welcomed him back with open arms. How he'd missed their unconditional generosity!

"Come here," his father rasped, and Erik did as told, entering the only embrace that would most certainly match his own. While Erik was slightly taller than his father, it was not by any more than a few inches.

This was the only real acceptance he needed back, but them being able to see his change wasn't enough.

They sat at one of the tables as the party raged around them, no one daring to interrupt the family reunion. He told them how he'd injured himself while practicing with the male ballet and one of them offered him morphine for the pain. Being the all or nothing type he was… Erik quickly became addicted on something meant for wounds of great measure that he'd taken for just a sprained ankle.

The spiral down was easy to see, and yet the descent up was what took the longest to explain. Cateline cried multiple times as did Marcy. They asked why he hadn't returned sooner and he told them of his shame and how he wanted to have hardcore proof to show them when he was ready to finally be theirs again.

They loved him no less at the end, and Erik could not have asked for a better family.

He spent the night in his old room that evening, surrounded by the family he so dearly loved.


	4. Set 4

Later that year, with Erik's sudden transition into composer, they had to hire a new violinist. And, without a doubt, this was when Erik truly knew he was destined to have been something more than first violin at the opera.

His father became more involved at the opera, often working with Monsieur le Farve on many of his decisions. Being one of the largest contributors, Erik's family had a lot of sway at the opera, and so when they'd hired the new violinist, Erik had been able to help with the process.

It was easy to pick him, obviously he had a talent that rivaled even his own, and Monsieur le Farve was more than pleased to oblige his old first violin. Every time Erik made a suggestion, it never steered him wrong, so the manager had learned to trust him very quickly.

Gustave Daae had brought with him a young little girl who was there to train to be in the chorus alongside the other little asirpring divas. Except… Erik could tell without a doubt, this young girl was different. She was two years younger than his own sister who at that point was barreling towards the age of fourteen, and she was more humble than even Gustave who thought himself the worst violinist on the entire planet.

When they had met him they both… startled, as most do when they first see him, but having everyone else around them calm and collected was a big aid in neither one over-reacting. Though, the small girl looked mildly frightened by him.

He supposed that's why when he heard her singing one evening in the chapel and approached to tell her how marvelous she was… she jumped back slightly in fear.

Out of all the reactions Erik received to his face, fear was always the worst. No one had anything to fear from him, and he was the gentlest of people according to his siblings and parents.

"I'm sorry Mademoiselle, I didn't mean-" It was very quickly that he recalled her very lacking French. It was no problem for him, however, to switch over to her native tongue. He knew one day Swedish would come in handy. "I did not mean to startle you."

Her eyes lit with recognition, and she smiled weakly.

"It's alright… I only-"

Erik could tell what she was trying to say by not saying anything at all.

"I can tell I frighten you, but I mean no harm. I have a brother your age, and a sister a few years older than you. They adore me if you would like to meet them sometime and confirm this?"

She giggled slightly, nodding her head, and he had her exactly where he wanted her now.

"Your father is extremely talented. I am proud to write operas for him."

"His playing is perfect!" She exclaimed, slightly avoiding his eye, but still seeming so very curious about him that she couldn't fully look away. "You write operas?"

The afterthought question was quite adorable, and Erik nodded succinctly. "I do, and then the singers, dancers, and musicians perform them. They deserve as much credit as I."

Blonde curls went flying as she agreed with him profusely.

"I want to sing one day! For everyone and anyone, but my voice is only mediocre. That is why I am here to train, Papa said!"

Erik wished he could express how wrong she was about her voice without scaring the little thing off.

"Miss Daae, with the right coach, I think you could become the most talented soprano on the entire planet. You have a rare gift, little one."

"You think so? And who is the right coach? Oh, it wouldn't be you, would it? I do not entirely know everyone's role here, but you seem rather keen on finding talent!"

She spoke very properly, but her excitement was that of a true eleven year-old girl.

Erik had never thought about teaching her himself, but as he mulled over the idea, it sounded like the only way to ensure she reached her maximum capability.

"Very well, I think that sounds like an amenable idea, little one. It shall be me who teaches you… if I don't scare you too much."

She seemed far less scared of him now as she shook her head and smiled brightly.

Erik decided that from then on she would be like a sister to him.

* * *

Erik was rather excited to get to his lessons with Christine that morning, finding that they had become the most enjoyable part of his day. The four days a week had been perfect for her as she trained to not only be in the chorus, but also the ballet corps. The little girl was very talented, and she'd proven that over her three years getting taught by him.

Of course, it truly put a damper in his excitement when he found her in their practice room crying.

"Christine?" he asked quickly, rushing down to encompass her in an embrace, feeling her sobs wrack him as well as her. "Christine, what is the matter, little one?"

After a few deep breaths, she managed to speak, "Papa!"

"What about your father, Christine?"

"He-" she hiccuped and he cursed whatever God had done to this poor child's father, "He's sick! And Madame- Madame Giry said he might- might not make it!"

Erik knew the Madame well, as he'd been the one to help hire her, and she was the strictest of all the ballet mistresses the opera had seen. She'd gotten here before Christine did, and she acted like a mother to the little girl in the opera house. That, and Christine was best friends with her daughter, Meg.

He petted her blonde hair gently as she cried on, cursing the Madame's bluntness. At least she had been honest with her.

"Would you like to cancel your lesson for today, little one?"

Almost like he'd stung her, Christine reviled. "Of course not! No, I need this today, Erik, please?"

She only called him by his name when she truly wanted something. Like the one morning when she just wanted to crawl back in her bed and sleep a while longer. Erik had not been able to deny her the pleasure with such a cute pout.

"If you insist?"

"I do," she said through the last of her cries.

They did not surface back when she started her lesson, or the whole way through it, but it was not hard to tell that she was holding back slightly. It was understandable to Erik… he didn't know what he would do if his father passed on. And he hoped that he did not have to find out any time soon… and nor did Christine.

* * *

Just after Christine's fifteenth birthday, her father passed away. Erik had been at his bedside with Christine when it happened, and he would never forget the extreme sorrow that overtook her. It had enveloped the whole room, and nothing had ever felt like it before. The sadness was damp and darkening, and it all felt quite suffocating as he had tugged at his collar and cravat, attempting to loosen them from their strangle.

Christine handled it better than Erik first expected she would. The first few days were sheer and miserable tears, but after the funeral, she recovered quite quietly, taking his tutelage and never demanding they cancel a lesson.

Which was where he sat, now, watching her play with the edge of the piece they were about to start when she hesitated, ready to say something.

He noticed now how she looked like a woman, the death of her father aging her slightly into the elder version of herself. Marcy had begun to look the same, but since no tragedy had befallen the Destler family, she looked the same age as Christine. Her blonde hair was tied back and slightly knotted, eyes dark from the lack of sleep she'd been getting. The Madame had tried to get her to sleep more, as had Mademoiselle Giry, but Christine was stuck in her ways, and with hooded eyes she looked up to him, lips parted as if ready to speak.

"I-" she stuttered, then shook her head, starting over quickly, "Father used to tell me a tale when I was young, of an… an Angel of Music. The angel was a wonderful being who could teach only the gifted how to make their craft." She smiled quickly then, it falling almost as fast as it came. "He also used to say that he would send me the angel when he went to heaven, no matter how old I was."

Erik wasn't entirely sure what to say, but what he did say made him cringe at his insensitivity, "But you don't believe this tall tale, do you?"

She shook her head nonetheless, looking at him with peerless blue eyes.

"Not really, but I do think in some way, that _you_ are my angel of music, Erik. While I know father did not send you to me, you are the closest thing I have. And you have been instrumental in my healing from his passing."

Glad that he had not completely shut her down, and overly honored at her words, Erik placed a hand on her shoulder as he stood, looking down at her with a smile. Though she was not as short as she was when she was eleven, he still had an immense amount of height on her.

"I will take the honor of being your angel any day, Christine. Whatever helps you heal, I shall do for you. You must know that I have only ever taught you, and I think you are the most splendid singer here."

Christine smiled, and taking Erik by surprise, she rushed forward, wrapping her arms about his waist, sighing like she'd just gotten her deepest secret off her chest.

"Thank you… Angel."

"You're welcome, Christine."

From then on, Erik was Christine's own personal Angel of Music.

* * *

Of course, when Christine turned sixteen, things suddenly changed drastically.

Le Farve had luckily dodged a bullet in not hiring La Calrotta a few years prior when she had attempted to squeeze her fat ass in through the theater doors, but now that they were beginning a new season and their previous Prima Donna was set to retire, along with le Farve himself, everyone was scrambling to do as told by the direction of Erik who was holding down the fort until the two new managers arrived.

He had snuck Christine into the limelight quicker than he had thought possible, but there was no question she was ready considering he'd made the main part she was to take in the opera, for _her _voice.

Currently, they were finishing up a run of Hannibal, but one of his own compositions was up next, and he and his family were set to meet the new managers and their patron that evening.

Le Farve promised he'd explained to them Erik's importance at the theater, and his father's as well. Charles was now the largest patron to date, and Erik was rather proud of his family.

When he was introduced to them, upon the stage where Hannibal rehearsals were scantily being done, they were slightly shocked by his appearance. Not that it mattered to Erik, but they seemed disgusted. Their fright was all that he cared to possess because he knew that unlike with Monsieur le Farve, he would not be friends with these men.

"You must be the younger Monsieur Destler."

Erik bowed slightly, catching Christine's eyes as he did so, her roll of the eyes almost breaking his facade.

"I am Richard Firmin, and this is my partner, Giles Andre."

"A pleasure," he replied out of sheer custom, "I am not only a jack of all trades here, but my father is the largest benefactor to date. He put his blood, sweat, and tears into the making of this opera, I hope you honor him well."

This seemed far more influential than Erik's face, and he respected their need to live on his father's good name.

"Yes, he is a world-renowned architect. We were never able to commission him, but now at least we possess one of his greatest pieces."

"The best," Erik agreed with Firmin, "Why don't I introduce you to some of the staff before we head out and we meet with your patron and my family?"

"That sounds wonderful," Andre said with a sugared tongue.

He would enjoy this evening for sure.

He did not introduce them to Christine, but he'd warned her he would not do such a thing. He did not want their minds tainted when he told them she was not only his, but his father's choice as well for the lead of the next opera. Just because she only had a small role that evening did not diminish her readiness.

Everyone had conglomerated in the lobby and introductions were done, the two bumbling idiots who now owned the opera practically reveling in his father's presence. Charles looked rather uncomfortable which only made him hate the fools more.

They were only waiting upon the Vicomte that had suddenly decided to take an interest in the arts- through his parents of course- and Erik did not like to be kept waiting.

He walked in, and Erik felt a slight animosity towards the boyish way he smiled and spoke, yet he was certainly an aristocrat of twenty-one if Erik had ever seen one. Especially since he did not even falter at the sight of his face.

Erik did not understand this, but he looked straight at him and barely blinked, shaking his hand as though they were old friends. He was certain himself and the Vicomte would _never _be friends.

This thought was only cemented when the Vicomte moved on from him and to his sister. Oh, and if Erik had ever seen a smitten human being, he was unfortunately looking at the face of Raoul de Chagny practically drooling over her.

Marcy seemed thrilled and delighted to have her hand kissed, and Erik could only toss her a side glance of supreme disgust to which she merely ignored! How dare she ignore him!

He did not like where this was going.

* * *

The Vicomte, taken with his sister, did nothing but speak with her as they headed up to his family's box. Box five had originally been the Brenel's box, and the Destler's had held it ever since they left.

Erik attempted to pull his father aside, trying to convince him not to let her go off with some… twat of a man, but Charles seemed fond of Raoul, and Erik knew everyone in the family was lost to his charms. To be fair to the boy, since he was so obviously out-voted, he had done nothing wrong at all… even accepted his face.

At the sounds of the orchestra starting up, he quelled his anger knowing that his little Christine would be on the stage in her first ever significant role. However small it may be, her other peppered roles were nothing compared to this one, and this role nothing compared to the lead which she would inhabit in the upcoming season. He could not wait.

When she came out on the stage, however… Erik was taken aback by the feelings that suddenly washed over him. Pride came first, but then something else which was completely unfamiliar. She looked radiant under the lighting, and her voice was gorgeous as usual, but her blonde struck him as gold, and every time he heard her voice, his heart yearned to reach out and connect with hers.

He'd never noticed such things forming for Christine before… until the very moment when she was so apparent before the crowd. And suddenly he could no longer keep his anger against the twenty-one year-old Vicomte and his eighteen year-old sister when the woman he suddenly had affections for was nine years his junior.

Oh, his father would crucify him!

These revelations did not soften the blow when the Vicomte informed them all that he was an old friend of Christine's. But, he did not seem to care to speak with her seeing as Charles had offered dinner for the lot of them, and Raoul was completely caught up in Marcy's charm.

_At least he has good taste in women_, Erik managed to commend.

He denied the invitation, saying he wanted to speak with the cast about the notes he'd made in his head, when really he wished to talk to Christine about his sudden… fancy.

"Erik!" She exclaimed, rushing into his arms the moment he came through the threshold of her tiny room.

"You did wonderful this evening, are you not eager for your debut?"

She grinned exuberantly, "I am more than ready, angel. I shall please the socks off of you!"

He chuckled, finding her enthusiasm positively enchanting. Though, for the second time in his life besides when he reunited with his family, Erik was nervous. He had no idea how it would go… telling a sixteen year-old woman that he rather cared for her on a more personal level than student and teacher wasn't something he did every day.

He decided to start with something else as she puttered about her room.

"The new managers brought with them a patron… he claims to know you. Does Raoul de Chagny ring a bell, Christine?"

Part of him wanted her to say no, but the way her eyes lit up already punctured his heart. Maybe he shouldn't have been a coward and started the conversation the way he'd originally intended.

"Raoul?" She spoke like he was a far-off memory, something fond but distant.

"Yes." Erik was sublimely uncomfortable as he loosened his cravat.

"He was such a sweet boy, I never thought I would see him again, though! He was far above my station, obviously. What a wonder…"

"A wonder indeed, the man is infatuated with my sister however."

Christine shot him a side-eye but did not look disappointed which eased Erik's tension significantly.

"Oh, you poor thing. Marcy is a big girl, though, I am sure he will be the perfect gentleman. In fact, I shall vouch for him. He was always so good to me and father. Father adored him."

That was also not reassuring, but Christine did not seem to notice his unease.

"If he breaks that vow of yours, I will come to you with my grievances," Erik threatened hollowly. She laughed, and at the sweet sound of it, he knew he was deep into something he could not come back from.

"Would you care to sit, Christine?" He did not want to hold this conversation while she was bustling about her little dressing room.

"Of course. Is something the matter?"

"No," he assured her, though his words were not convincing.

"Tell me what is on your mind, Erik."

She looked so open to anything in that moment, and he sighed, wondering if he should ruin her innocence. Would she think him a monster for falling for her when he had just yesterday been her teacher? He always would be, but their dynamic would certainly change if this went in his favor.

It was then that he remembered his face, and something in him halted like someone ripping a hand off the face of a clock.

"I just wanted to let you know that from now on we should have one or two less private lessons. You will be spending a significant amount of time with the stage, and I would not wish to over-work you."

Her face made a strange look, but he could not place it, even after all these years of spending time with her. He sighed. Why did he think he could ever be good enough for her? Obviously his face meant he was destined to be alone, no one could look at it and _desire _him. Surely friendship and familial love were reasonable… but desire? He was a fool if he thought that.

"I suppose one less won't hurt. But I will give up no more than that! I cherish my time with my Angel of Music, remember?"

He nodded, unable to speak due to his cowardice.

"I will see you tomorrow then?"

"Yes!"

And he left, feeling completely empty of any of his senses.


	5. Set 5

With her role securely in place, neither patron having any objections to Christine becoming the sole star, Erik sat in their practice room and played the piano against her practicing soprano. She was completely seraphic, but something in the piece was lacking.

"You know, Christine, this is supposed to be a love song. Corri is completely and utterly in love with her father's business partner. You must at least pretend you know what love is or else the audience will feel as though you have fallen flat."

She sighed, and they commenced again, but she still could not seem to find the emotions in the song well enough.

He stood, wondering just how to convince her to get this right, and as she turned to watch him, he said, "Like the love for your father, but with something else. Desire, deep and rooted that comes from nowhere… especially when you least expect it. Find _that_, Christine, like something just blew you over and you are happy to fall."

She seemed mildly surprised by his description, but shrugged it off as she got into her stance and began to sing again, yet still there was not enough of what he was speaking of.

Completely out of his mind and knowing he may scare her away forever, Erik huffed, figuring there was only one way to impart the feeling he wished for her to find. Stepping forward, Christine looking aggressively curious as to his actions as Erik grasped the sides of her face and pressed his lips against hers, almost overtaken by the wave of her that hit him like nothing else ever had before. Not even the morphine had provided such sweet sensation as he pressed further into her, her lips not exactly encouraging, but they had not responded.

He pulled back seconds later, running a hand through his hair frantically, motioning to the music in her hands, "Sing."

He did not look at her, merely paced and listened to the drastic change in her voice. Oh, how perfect his Christine was! And to think that he'd felt those lips currently producing such lovely words, pressed against his own. He nearly died from pleasure.

"How was that?" she wondered breathlessly as she tapered off.

"Perfect," he replied, and every part of him knew that he was not talking about her voice, for she already knew that that was perfect.

He was in a frenzy now, feeling as though he'd just violated every inch of her trust, and he groaned in pain at the thought of hurting her. His steps were quick and frantic, but he was halted by the soft touch of a grasp on his wrist.

He looked at her, wondering what she must be thinking with the blank look on her. Well, she was still touching him, so that was good.

As if time slowed down, Erik felt himself get pulled forward in slow motion. It was quick and strong for such a small girl who he needed to lean down to kiss, but Erik did not care as she grasped the back of his neck and pulled him down.

If he thought the one kiss he'd initiated had been pure bliss, ecstasy had come and called his name as she began the slow dance of their lips. Her body melded to his as he grabbed her waist, and she let him, letting go of his wrist to grab on more solidly to his bicep. Somewhere sometime she'd gone and put the music down. She intoxicated him, and Erik would live on forever inebriated if it meant he got to keep her.

When they pulled apart, he pressed his forehead against hers, feeling her blonde curls with his now free hand.

"I wish you would have told me sooner," she whispered.

"I barely pass the mark on your age now, any sooner would have been before I even knew, anyways."

She laughed, leaning in for a quick peck as her breath shorted, "I have fancied you since I was fourteen!"

Two years! Erik's heart leaped.

"Christine, I meant to tell you last evening after I discovered, but I thought about my face and…"

He didn't really know what else to say to her in that regard. She had obviously accepted it and… desired it (since she was fourteen his brain reminded him!), but it was so sudden. He had no reply.

Luckily, she knew what to say.

"Erik, your face does not matter. I quite like it, actually. It makes you unique."

He placed her face in his hands again and pressed a soft kiss to her nose, then both cheeks, and as if she had waited agonizingly for him, she met his lips halfway for a real kiss.

"Do you think your father would have approved?"

She backed away a little with concern in her eyes.

"Of course! Erik, where did you get such a low self image of yourself? I care for you rather deeply, and father truly adored you. He was amazed by your talents."

"As I am by yours," he said silkily, stealing another kiss from his wonderful Christine.

"You need to cease before I get the ego you deserve. Now, we should probably get back to my lesson, hm?"

Erik supposed that was as good an idea as any and kissed her quickly before returning to his rightful seat. And what a view he had.

* * *

Approaching his family with Christine took a lot longer than he imagined it should have.

Preparing for one of his operas to be performed was a hassle with the new managers. He could never seem to be on the same page as them, and they doubted Christine at every turn. Erik, however, would reassure her every moment they spent together, and he adored the little kisses she would give him when feeling particularly nervous.

Charles suspected, but he never said anything to the two of them.

The premiere was their mutual plan to accommodate his family. After her great triumph where she would impress everyone in attendance, Erik would lead his family down to her new Prima Donna room, and then introduce her as something besides the star.

Erik worshiped the ground Christine walked on, and while she may still be young, he knew that she was going to be the end all for him.

The Vicomte was joining them in their box once again, and since he'd formally started to court Marcy, Erik was forced to get along with him. It was torture to be around the man, even though he had never done anything wrong to anyone there. Maybe it was the fact that he got along so well with the managers, or maybe it was that he just ribbed Erik wrong, but something told him he would never get rid of him.

Marcy was undoubtedly happy, and for that Erik could not begrudge her. They were both well-respected members of society, and surely the Vicomte knew that the entire family came with Marcy. It did not seem to bother him.

Erik stopped into Christine's dressing room before she was set to go on, and the smile which came to her face was more than enough to assure his confidence when he left. She would do wonderfully, and this was nothing he doubted.

It didn't stop him from pacing in the empty box five, however, because his nerves were on high. He didn't know how his family would react to their relationship… but Erik was prepared to lose it all to keep Christine.

With her lips still burning their path on his own, Erik startled when everyone arrived to the box.

They all greeted him kindly, but his nerves were obvious.

"Erik, you look positively frazzled, darling. Is everything alright?" Cateline asked him, stroking his hairline and pushing some of the frantic pieces back.

"Yes. Thank you, mother," he said gently, kissing her forehead.

She smiled gently, "I never tire of you calling me that. I know that I am not the woman who gave you life, but I certainly wish I was. And don't you worry, Christine will do wonderfully tonight."

He nodded, whispering, "I know."

She went back to his father who took her into his arms with love, winking at Erik.

Oh, his nerves were truly on high. If his father could be fake-married to his son's wetnurse, then certainly there would be no problem in his relationship with Christine, right? Besides, Charles had loved Gustave and they'd been friends up until the latter's death.

Christine out-performed herself that evening. Erik knew she would, but even as infatuated as he was with her, he knew that she'd outshone every soprano that had come before her by her talent alone, no love involved.

The end of the performance was when Erik knew his beloved had taken her rightful place as Diva of the opera house. The managers looked as though money was falling from the stage, and it seemed that Erik had finally put his lovely little soprano into the place where she belonged… besides his arms of course.

His nerves then only came on tenfold.

"We should go congratulate Mademoiselle Daae, I think she deserves it. Beautiful opera, by the way," Firmin said cheekily, though he looked remiss in the comment.

"My pupil has done well for herself, she worked hard and earned her place on that stage this evening. Thank you, Messieurs."

His voice did not quaver, but he had no idea what his face was doing.

Cateline looked at him with a big smile, attempting to ignore the two who were lost in one-another.

"Shall we follow? I am sure that you'd love to congratulate your student, Erik. Oh, and I must say, that was one of your better pieces, dear."

"Thank you, mother," he replied with a grin, hiding his shaking hands.

"Come son, it's going to be upwards from now on for you," Charles said warmly, patting his back.

Erik, for all of his faults, adored his father and to this day, cherished every ounce of pride he would give him. Messing up but once had been too many times for Erik, and he was so glad to be able to continuously please his father.

They headed to Christine's dressing room, which was not the easiest feat as there were several large crowds that did little parting for even their managers to get through. The whole thing had been a success, and luckily enough, those who had been in the opera seemed proud of their work.

As they approached the door, Erik's knees wobbled slightly. They put him first, telling him to knock as the crowds around him yelled with mirth.

"Christine," he bellowed over them, "Let us in?"

She was already expecting the company as planned, and to little surprise from Erik, she greeted them dressed to the nines. He hadn't known what she was going to wear, but he nearly swooned at the sight of his favorite dress on her.

"Come in all."

They all shuffled in one by one, congratulating her on the immense talent she showcased that evening. As soon as the managers had come, however, they left, probably to find ratty ballet girls who wouldn't mind spending a night in their bed if only in hopes for a better role one day. What took the longest was the reacquaintance of Christine and Raoul who were both respectively in happy relationships at this point and seemed to briskly recall their time together near Swedish waters.

Erik's family doted on her, and since she was the same age as Jesper and just a tad younger than Marcy, she'd always gotten along very well with the two of them.

He interrupted the explaining of Marcy and Raoul's first dinner together for his most important announcement. Christine seemed to catch wind of his idea and rushed over to him, his family and the Vicomte all eyes on them from their various seating in the room. She merely stood by his side, but the way Cateline was looking at him, Erik knew that it might not come as a complete surprise.

"I just wanted to let you all know that in the recent month, Christine and I have engaged in a courtship."

There, he'd finally said it and his family finally knew the whole truth. He'd hated keeping things from them, but they'd also never asked into him having a wife or partner. Erik was still rather young as a man, being only twenty-five, but that still meant he was a little old for Christine.

"_What_?" Raoul voiced, and suddenly Erik's hatred for the man came back. He'd stood, looking as though someone had just offended his entire family line.

The tension in the room folded, and Erik glanced to the man's partner, his little sister Marcy, who seemed sad and confused at the sudden turmoil her suitor was creating.

"Raoul," she scolded, grabbing for his hand, but he himself seemed so rightfully confused as he glanced down to the woman attempting to calm him down then at his childhood friend.

At once, Chalres seemed to stand and the whole room stopped breathing, let alone did it dare to make a noise.

"Leave, de Chagny."

He did not need to be told twice, and Erik watched the boy run in fear, Marcy picking up her skirts and darting after him.

"What was that?" Jesper asked, breaking his father's created silence.

"I don't know, baby," Cateline said, standing to calm her lover after she kissed the top of her son's head.

"It was utterly disrespectful, and if that boy comes back without an apology bleeding from his lips I will be happy to solve the issue," Charles huffed. Cateline only shook her head at his stubbornness and turned on the other happy couple.

"I think that's very wonderful, dear. You two look so happy. And she'll make beautiful grandbabies, not that you wouldn't, Erik dear."

Erik rolled his eyes and thanked his mother, kissing the blush on Christine's cheek. The niceties they got did not erase the tension in the room, however.

"Congratulations… I guess," Jesper said, he looked very unsure, and Erik could tell he was still a boy who thought that girls were some far-off oddity he hadn't the time to explore.

Now, Jesper _was_ going to university, unlike Erik who had merely learned all he could and then went into the conservatory. That was beside the matter though, as Charles looked at them with apologetic eyes.

"I'm not entirely sure what he meant by it, but I do think that whatever it was he did not mean it with good intentions. I think that you two will make a fine couple, the both of you so talented and having gone through the things that you have. You will make each other stronger, which is always advised because I did not follow such wisdom in my first marriage."

Erik smiled.. Wondering briefly what it would have been like to be raised by his true mother… the torture that may have been in store for him.

"Thank you, Monsieur Destler," Christine spoke for them, her arm around his waist in return, a big comfort to Erik.

"You may as well call me Charles, darling. For accepting my boy here, you should be well compensated."

Erik's growl was heard across the room, though both sentiments were halfhearted and all in good fun.

"I hope Marcy is alright," Christine whispered, "I really thought that he would be happy for me if I was happy, I don't know what's gotten into Raoul. There should be no reason that he would react like that. It's not as if he doesn't like you… it didn't seem that way, anyways."

"Well, I can certainly say I do not care for him, not now," Erik replied aloud, his family looking at him oddly.

"I should go find them," Cateline said, kissing her lover on the cheek and running out of the room.

Erik looked over at his father and sighed, feeling as though he'd caused this whole thing, yet he also couldn't help but blame the Vicomte.

"You aren't going to let Marcy see him any longer, right?"

Charles looked rather concerned, "It depends, son. If it was somehow a misunderstanding, then I could find it in my heart to forgive him… but if Marcy is in anyway hurt, then I don't think that he'll be welcomed back here."

Erik nodded, feeling bleak. He did not want to ruin his sister's happiness with his own, but he was also not going to cater to the Vicomte. He could only hold one woman, whether he cared for Christine or not… and Erik would kill before letting Christine go to that pompous arse.

"I'm going to go help mother find them," he said suddenly, knowing the opera house better than anyone there.

Charles nodded, and Christine did so as well, beginning to look concerned.

* * *

Erik came upon his sister and the delinquant de Chagny boy on the roof of the opera where they'd obviously just ended up. Raoul was pacing frivolously, and Marcy looked frayed.

"What happened in there?" She asked him, seeming to be pleading with the boy. "What do you have against my brother being with Christine?"

"What does it matter to you?" The boy retorted, and Erik glowered from his hiding spot.

"We're courting, Raoul! If you have feelings for Christine, then I need to know about it so that way I can move on…"

As Marcy trailed off, Raoul whipped around from his pacing and looked at her with his eyes wider than tea saucers.

"No, no, absolutely not, Marcy. I can't… I don't care for her that way, I simply…"

"You simply what, Raoul? You seemed so against it… do you have something against my brother? Besides a stint he had when he was my age and we didn't see him for a year… he's been the family's rock. He is smarter than all of us combined, and I love him, Raoul. Do you not adore your brother?"

Raoul pushed a hand through his hair, looking rather upset and cornered. Erik was very proud of Marcy.

"I do! And I care so much for you, Marce," he reached for her, but she rightfully pulled back, his hands clenched in anger. "I don't know why I was so upset. I suppose it could be that at one point I did… imagine myself with Christine, until I met you! I had been hoping to find her, but all thoughts like that were lost when I saw you, yet my mind held onto those feelings apparently. It was an in-the-moment reaction."

He reached for her again, and Marcy let him this time, closing her eyes as his hands cupped her cheeks.

"I apologize for my actions, Marce. I think I might want to be in your life… forever, and I will do my best not to butcher what we have with my asinine over-reactions."

Erik watched his sister nod slowly, holding his hands to her face, softening. He sighed. If there was anyone in the world who did not deserve the tears it was certainly Marcy… right next to her mother, both of whom were angels for looking at his face their entire lives with love. And Christine….

His thoughts wandered, and lucky they did because he nearly watched de Chagny kiss his sister.

When they broke, he heard their laugh and came back to the scene before him.

He was about to come out from his hiding spot when his mother burst through the doors, looking positively relieved and angered.

"Raoul de Chagny, I hope you've settled your head or there are two men in Mademoiselle Daae's dressing room who would love to have your head."

Erik grinned. At least Cateline knew him well.

"Forgive me, Madame Destler, I forgot myself. Old feelings came up against my will and true feelings now. I did not intend to cause hurt or offend anyone."

His mother pursed her lips, not daring to let Chagny think he'd been completely forgiven with his fancy words and handsome face.

"Well, I am not exactly the one that deserves the apology, assuming you have already taken the liberty to do so with my daughter, you may want to return downstairs. Then maybe Charles and I will treat everyone to dinner."

Raoul nodded. "That sounds amenable, but I would very much like to pay myself."

Cateline grinned.

"Let's go," Marcy said, tugging her suitor along as he smiled brightly.

Erik made it back to the room in plenty of time to not only explain what had happened, but also to warn them all that Raoul was on his way to grovel.

He had mostly forgiven Raoul, but Erik knew that Charles did not take to slights very well, and most of the time it ruined people if they offended him. Having to protect himself was something Erik knew weighed heavy on his father's want for happiness, but he'd always managed to do so with grace and effectiveness. Their family had an iron-clad persona, and despite the fact that Cateline and Charles weren't married in the eyes of the church, it changed nothing since he'd preceded his reputation well enough to let it be forgotten.

The room did forgive, Raoul, however, but that did not mean Erik liked him any more than he had before. Especially when his lovely Christine forgave the man with a hug.


	6. Set 6

Everything blew over with a particularly strange ease, and Erik worried that something would come from the woodworks to haunt them. Then again, that strange feeling seemed to be right this time when Raoul de Chagny requested an audience with all three Destler men at their home.

He sat before them, their wine only holding over the anticipation with a slight push.

"Why did you bring us here, son?"

Erik looked over at his father in question, but let it go as the boy began to speak.

"I… Well, it has been nearly a year since I started to court Marcy, and I know that it is time to ask for her hand because there is nothing more that I would like than to have her as my wife."

All of his words were spit out in rapid succession, and Erik felt as though someone had just slapped him. Not that he knew what that felt like, but the way people's heads turned when they did… he didn't care to find out.

Although, his mind was churning when suddenly he realized he and Christine had been together for the same amount of time. Was she expecting a proposal soon? He had hardly thought about it, but there was no doubt he wanted to spend his entire life with Christine. Of course, binding her to him forever would be… cruel, he thought, because if one day she changed her mind, it would make him that much harder to leave. He knew his face was gruesome, and she claimed to love it… but he _did_ have a mirror in his flat.

Despite it all, Erik decided that he would speak to her about it.

In this decision, Erik missed the entire conversation de Chagny was having with his father.

Apparently they had stopped to look at him and hear his input, but rather embarrassed he said, "I seemed to have missed something."

"I simply thought it important to ask permission from her brothers as well, seeing as you are both very important to Marcy."

"Ah," Erik replied airily, thinking about marrying Christine despite his reservations for bounding her to him, "You have my express consent."

This seemed to thrill the boy, and Charles congratulated him merrily, shaking his hand and wishing him luck in asking his daughter the question.

Meanwhile, Erik stood in slight confusion.

"Does that conversation have you thinking, Erik?" His father wondered, their house empty without the girls inhabiting it.

"Yes," he replied hummingly, not really paying attention.

Charles looked over at Jesper with a wink and asked, "Do you think I should tell him?"

"Please do," the boy groaned, and Erik's eyes finally came back to them.

"Tell me what?"

His father shook his head and motioned for Erik to sit back down, looking quite happy.

He struggled to see where this was going. He knew very well that Raoul was going to propose to Marcy. He hadn't missed that much of the conversation! Did they suddenly think him a dunce?

"I'm thinking of purchasing the opera house."

If he had not sat down already, Erik would have needed to seat himself anyways. The wind left his lungs, and with a quick glance up, he could tell his father was not joking.

"Why did you tell Jesper first and not me? I practically run the place," he said, feeling slightly hurt that they would keep something like this from them.

"That's exactly why I _didn't_ tell you, Erik. I feel like those men who currently run the opera are fools, and unless I was sure I could double what they paid, I wasn't going to offer."

"They barely deserve half," he muttered in response, but his father quelled him with a look.

"I will pay them double and they shan't refuse. You most certainly deserve the position of manager far more than they or I. Erik, son, I want you to be the one in charge from now on. Completely and irrevocably in charge."

His head fluttered high into the clouds, and despite his very sturdy chair, he sunk to the ground and laid across it.

Two heads peaked over his own.

"Your reaction is not pleasing me. I could revoke the idea-"

"No!" Erik shot up, his head full of ideas for how he would run the entire place all by himself. With all the input his sponsors were willing to give, of course. They would need to know he had the right to veto anything he cared to, however.

"Then it's settled. What a wonderful day, do you not think, Erik?"

He nodded, feeling completely numb as his brother stuck out a hand, his aid to the normal stature of his towering height very necessary.

He rushed to Christine immediately, not entirely sure which topic to discuss with her first.

* * *

Erik had decided to talk over the opera first, and after telling her his grand plan for keeping her upon the stage forever, she'd laughed and kissed him. Her voice would only last so long, and while he was remiss to admit such detail, he knew that his lovely young partner was right.

Therefor, he led on with talking in other ways, attempting to find some lead away into the conversation he truly cared about.

"Raoul asked for my sister's hand in marriage," he blurted suddenly when the conversation about music had finally died down.

"Oh!" she exclaimed from her sofa in her dressing room, his own shaking self seated in her turned-around vanity chair.

"Yes, he asked my father just this morning."

"That's so nice," she lavished, "I have never been to a wedding, but I imagine they are very nice."

"My parents never had one… well, my father and adoptive mother. Technically he is still married to my real birth mother," Erik said softly, his mind trapped and scattered all at once.

He'd never been so clammed up before. What if she did not want to marry him… or what if she didn't want to commit to him, either? That would be understandable with his face and all, but it would surely break his heart.

"Well, I am sure it will be a happy occasion no less."

"Yes."

He mulled over how to continue the conversation and pursed his lips, looking at her intently. God, he adored her. He thanked Him thousands of times during the day for sending him his own personal angel, with her glowing blonde hair and always forgiving blue eyes. Not once since the first time they met had she been anything but kind and gentle.

"Are you alright, Erik?"

He snapped out of his daze and nodded quickly.

"Of course," he just had to do it, like jumping into the cold lake when it was really hot. Head first. "Would you want to marry _me_, Christine?"

He felt as nervous as the Vicomte had, but at least Erik did not have to go through the father or he most certainly never would have asked. What father would have let him marry their daughter besides his own? Well… something told him Gustave might have just very well said yes.

"Erik," she called him back like a siren calling sailors to sea, "Erik, _yes_."

"What?" He stuttered.

"Of course I want to marry you, Erik! I have wanted nothing more in these past few months than to be Madame Destler. They will call me Prima Donna Destler instead of Prima Donna Daae! Oh, Erik, you have made my year!" She rushed at him, nearly knocking the chair back if it weren't for his skillful agility.

He hugged her, laughing quite foolishly at himself for ever thinking she wouldn't want to. As devoted as he was to her, she had always reciprocated that same love tenfold, she didn't deserve his doubt.

"Darling," he noted seriously, "That was not a proposal."

She pulled back from their embrace with tinted cheeks.

"It wasn't?" Christine squeaked.

"No."

His soothing voice calmed her, however, as she sat in his lap holding onto his neck.

"Well," she said slowly, cheeks tinged with an endearing shade of red, "If it had been a question, my answer would have most likely been positive."

"_Most likely?_" He challenged, darting in quickly for a kiss to her neck.

"Yes! It would have been a yes," she gave in, holding his head still to kiss his cheeks and then his lips, looking at him as though her entire world suddenly rested within the palms of her hand.

"I do not care to ruin any of the joy in which my sister will somehow soon have with that friend of yours by proposing to you soon, but knowing your answer means everything to me, Christine."

She smiled, her whole face lighting up with the action.

"Then let it be just us, hm? How about to us we are engaged, unless you do not wish to marry me, Monsieur?"

"Are _you _suddenly popping the question, Mademoiselle?" He added on to her formalities, feeling oddly thrilled by her asking instead of him.

"Yes," she determined, and his lovely little soprano got down from his lap, placing herself on one knee and holding his for balance, "Will you marry me?"

"Yes," he said, and while the whole thing was odd and completely out of line, the squeal of happiness he received was worth every moment.

They embraced, and Erik pressed his lips to her head, just enjoying the warmth and imagined them finally joined as one upon the alter of their God. A union holier than anything else, and to think for one second he doubted that she would care to share such a thing with him.

* * *

Pacing by the door of his own hand-built home, Erik felt the air shift about him as it curled around his warm form, attempting to cool him. He could not be quelled, however, as the four men in relation to the Destler family now stood exiled from the room where _his _Christine was giving birth to _their _child.

Oh what a wild turn his life had taken. But, that day unfortunately was not entirely what was on his mind as he listened in on his wife becoming a mother.

In fact, speaking of mothers… the day he met his entirely real, flesh and blood mother, was what was stark against his mind as the floors gave way beneath his light pacing, his father, brother, and brother-in-law all seeming far less anxious than him. Of course, it made plenty of sense.

He remembered vividly, watching Christine walk down the aisle towards him on their wedding day, surrounded by his family and their loved ones from about the opera house, and there was an unfamiliar face in the back of the church. They had made their vows before God, intending to be true and just to one-another, which Erik knew that he would have no problem doing. His sister had married in the same church, and while his brother did not seem inclined to do so at all in the near future, it would be the same church he would marry in as well.

He and Christine alike had cried wonderful tears, their love for one-another evident. He had fully taken over the opera house in wake of his father's ownership, and she was the reigning diva, though Christine hadn't ever acted like it. The opera thrived with them both in charge, and neither one was remiss in realizing their blessings.

Christine looked gorgeous in her imported gown from Sweden, one of the very many things Erik would have done for her if it got her before the priest.

Of course, considering she had asked _him _to marry _her_, Erik had no doubt she wanted it just as much as he had.

But the unfamiliar face in the back of the church still vexed him. He knew _everyone_, so was his disposition to do so, and since their relations were limited seeing a face he did not recognize was not entirely a welcome distraction on the happiest day of his life.

The woman was older, he would guess probably his adopted mother's age, if not a bit older, and she had long, black hair. Erik stopped to speak with her as he and Christine made their rounds through the crowds congratulating them. They had chosen not to receive people that evening, and so their time until they departed for a honeymoon was everyone else's.

Erik clutched his young bride gently as the woman stood in her corner, speaking to no one, her air high and mighty, already giving him a bad feeling about her.

"Do you know who she is?" Christine had asked him, looking perplexed as though she should.

"No, but we're to find out," he'd replied, the woman's attention seemingly grabbed by their sudden approach.

"Monsieur," she greeted, not entirely cold, but something was missing in her voice as she regarded Christine, "Madame."

"We hope not to cause offense," Erik started promptly, already feeling as though he wanted to expel her from their joyous day immediately, "but neither my wife or myself recognize you and can't help but to wonder how you came to hear of this event?"

Besides the fact that it was announced in the papers, as private no less, Erik wasn't sure why their names meant anything to her.

"I did not expect you to recognize me, Erik," he should have known then, with the cold look of impassivity and her harsh glare that she had been the woman who birthed him, before she even spoke the words, "But I am your mother."

Erik's real mother was standing on the other side of the church with his father, chattering to the many people there joyously. They were oblivious to this conversation, and to spare Charles, Erik hoped they stayed that way.

He attempted to obtain the information, to soak it in as the truth and possibly even deny it, but why else would Madeleine return besides a wedding? And what woman in their right mind would claim him as their son just for laughs?

She struggled to look at him, which did not surprise Erik, but what did surprise him was the spitfire that was his wife as she nearly lunged at the woman. The only visible action, however, was a step forward she took, leaning forward, not a modicum of fear on her face. Erik admired his bride, for she had more strength than she did.

"Why are you here?"

Erik remarked in his mind to never truly upset the woman he'd bound himself to. The blonde was ferocious.

"I just had to see it for myself… I couldn't believe a woman… a _breathing _woman was to marry my son, let alone a beautiful one."

Her brashness shocked them both into silence, and this allowed her to continue spitting her venom at them.

"And I've been keeping track! Truthfully, I had hoped you'd died when my husband could not find a wetnurse, but I suppose he had no problem bedding her either. He'll really accept anything, won't he?"

Erik stiffened, Christine nearly crushing his hand in return.

"How dare you, you evil woman! You have no right to be here after almost thirty years! You cannot come to our day of love and ruin it with your disgusting behavior and boarish words! Just because you could not love him, does not mean others suffer the same ignorance you do. In fact, I very well know that you are the losing party in this affair, Madame."

Christine stood triumphantly, even though Madeleine was much taller than his fierce and lovely, little wife.

"Well, I never-"

"Madeleine."

Erik's spine nearly fell from his body. He had been trying to sequester his father from this wretched woman before him. They did not need this on their very special day, but God only gave them things they could handle, or at least that was what Erik had been told all his life.

"Charles," she said reproachfully, much more demure now that her once-husband stood before her.

"You were absolutely wrong in coming here, today, Madeleine. To think you have any right…" Charles shook his head, Erik watching his father still frozen in his place.

When he was a boy, he often wondered why his mother hadn't wanted him… why she couldn't love him. But he needn't care when his father loved him enough for them both, and then he received twice as much love from Cateline who never ceased to amaze him. He adored them both and eventually stopped caring about his real mother. The beautiful woman before him who was only vain and cruel.

"I came here to see my son marry. And despite whatever the harpy who married him might say, I do so dearly want to know how much you paid her to do so."

The resounding slap quieted the room, and Erik's eyes widened, Christine with her hand over her mouth, and Charles looking mutely satisfied at his lover who had delivered the deafening blow.

"Get out," Cateline hissed, and even through all the trouble Erik had gotten himself into over the years, and Jesper and Marcy as well, he'd never heard her so angry.

Madeleine, who was clutching her red cheek and wounded pride, left.

Cateline turned immediately on him as did his wife, both of them fretting over him, making sure he was okay, but he couldn't move. Not for a rather long minute that dragged on for forever.

And then, as if his soul left his body, Erik fainted.


	7. Set 7

When he came to from his disastrous interaction at his wedding, Erik woke to the sight of his beautiful bride pacing across from him. And strangely enough, they were in one of the rooms behind the church, where he was laying on a sofa, the white material of his bride's gown creating a terrifyingly harsh noise.

"Christine!" He beckoned, and she startled, running over to him and finally making that incessant noise cease.

"Oh, my love, are you alright? I've been cursing that woman's name since your father told it to me minutes ago! Well," she managed quickly, not letting him get a word in otherwise, "I've been dragging her name then apologizing to the Lord in Heaven, then going around and around in the same dizzying cycle-"

He put a finger to her lips, stopping her beautiful voice from uttering another word. He adored her, but his mind ached with the fall it must have taken.

"My angel of a wife, I am perfectly fine." He moved his finger from her soft smile to her hair, pushing back the strands that had come over her darling face. "You needn't worry over me, Christine. Although, my head does ache so, but I know exactly what would heal it."

His all-together sweet and timid wife blushed at his innuendo, and he felt no guilt for it.

She placed a hesitant hand to his face, touching him oh so gently on his ruined skin, leaning in for one of their many blissful kisses, and so went the night when they returned to Erik's flat for a brief interlude before heading onto the road where about a two hour carriage ride away they would be finally enjoying their real honeymoon.

Erik now stood pacing in his home once again, feeling the anxiety in the room rising minute by minute.

Marcy was inside the room helping Christine, and since she and Raoul both seemed to be… incapable, as it were, to produce the results himself and Christine were so easily able to achieve, Erik finally understood the boy's behavior.

De Chagny had been married to his sister a lot longer than them, and unable to stand the sight of anyone moping on this day, he sat down next to the man, startling him.

"Are you alright?" Erik nearly blurted the words, for while he may be his brother by law, they still did not get along overly well.

It was then that he he looked over, blonde hair tossed without care, cravat undone and untidy. Erik felt pity for him.

"No," he said lowly, a sniffle nearly making Erik stand back up so as to not endure the impudence of him. But what else better did he have to do.

"Would you care to speak on it?"

"Like you do not know, Erik."

His name on anyone's but Christine's lips or his family's often sounded odd and foreign. This, however, was Raoul, not entirely family, but also not a stranger.

"I regret yours and my sister's inability to conceive a child, but I shall not apologize for having one of my own."

Raoul snorted, his classic brushing-it-off smirk that his sister was so fond of whenever Erik would say something particularly snarky to him showing. It was true amusement, however.

"I never asked that… I merely asked to be blessed, and yet we have received nothing in the past two years. I love your sister, truly… and I even wondered if maybe she would be willing to go to extreme lengths for us, but she loves me equally as much."

"How do you know it is you that is the uneven one in the equation?" Erik asked figuratively, not entirely wanting to know the intimacies of his sister and her husband, but had to ask nonetheless.

His conversation partner chuckled, running a hand through his hair, making it look even more atrociously unkempt. Erik's own thick black hair was always pushed back and kept to the highest degree of concentration… bar the few times his wife had found him hunched over the piano after a twenty-four hour interlude of music outpour.

"It _has _to be me. She is in perfect health and she and the doctor concur that everything," he gestured to nothing in particular, but continued, "is all right."

Erik swallowed an inappropriate comment, "Maybe it will simply take a while to take, de Chagny. Regardless, you need no child to have a good life. In fact… I'm actually terrified for the sudden change."

"Terrified? _You_?" Raoul retorted, sounding completely shocked, "Is it because you think the child could inherit your face?"

This gave Erik pause. He'd never considered that… that his child could have his facial deformity, that the fruit of Christine's womb would look like him. And while the world had begrudgingly tolerated his presence… would they continue to do so? Mild panic overtook him, and he struggled to understand this concept of his child possibly taking upon his features. His bad ones, anyways.

That was why he was so relieved when Marcy came out, beaming with a smile as she declared that Erik now had a beautiful baby girl to raise.

* * *

Apparently, as Raoul's worry had been so vibrant, he had been fretting for nothing. Even while they were sitting on the steps and discussing the fact that in two years he and Marcy had not conceived, he found out just after Grace Christine Destler was born that there was to be a new de Chagny heir.

And they had a boy, too. He was a cherished cousin of Grace, who was absolutely perfect in her father's eyes. She had bouncy black curls and a disposition that would have him fending off every man who came in sight. The little girl adored Rapheal Charles de Chagny, and even though she was only a half a year old, it was obvious when her smile spread over chubby cheeks at the sight of an infant just like her.

Erik adored his daughter, and he did the exact same of his wife, which was probably why they had a son just a year later. He was equally as anxious that he may have been born with his face, but no such results came. And so was born Charles Erik Destler.

His father had jested that they would need to be slightly more creative when the time came for another Destler baby to grace the world.

Grace watched carefully over Charles, loving him most ardently. She may only be a year old, but her priorities were nonetheless in the right order. Or at least Erik thought.

Since her cousin would most likely be an only child, he was glad to provide the boy with a plentiful home of cousins in which he could rely on.

"You know," Erik said to Christine as he held her in their bed, placing a kiss to her forehead, "I'm truly thankful that we were given two perfect children… I don't know what I would have done if they looked like I do."

"You would have blamed yourself, darling. Needlessly, I assure you, but I prepared myself for that possibility as well, and I am surprised that you only recently came to this conclusion," she said, and somehow she still sounded groggy.

"Well, I realised the possibility only when Raoul mentioned something when Grace was born. The fear was assuaged, obviously, but the terror gripped me with Charlie."

Christine snuggled deeper into his bare chest, and it was often he wondered how she found any comfort on his bony body.

"We are two for two now, so the next time you needn't worry."

"No, I suppose I shan't."

Just as Christine seemed to finally drift asleep, the piercing cry of their youngest sounded through the halls of their home which Erik had built himself what felt like many years ago. Even if he was only thirty.

"Erik, maybe we shouldn't have anymore children," Christine moaned, shuffling to get to their whining child.

"You don't mean that," he told her, arising with her. They parented together, as always, so his rising was hers and vice versa. Besides, Erik could not sleep in his grand bed without Christine resting in it with him.

She put on her dressing robe and reached for Erik's hand as they left their room and traveled to their boy's.

There was a musicality to Grace's cry that Erik had loved, and still did whenever she saw fit to let him have it, but not so much for Charlie. It was the run of the mill child's cries, and needless to say, Charlie's talent in music would probably have something to do with the long piano fingers he already possessed.

* * *

Grace, his firstborn, was the prettiest out of all of his children, and he did not say this because she was the only girl. His other boys were very handsome, all with qualities that he saw in his structure, but had never taken hold to his face. Some of the features his four boys had were obviously their mother's, but Grace… she was the most handsome of the clan.

Her features were unearthly, taking almost everything from him, his high cheekbones and gorgeous hazel eyes that were mostly amber. Her black curls had turned to lovely waves, and she'd already been eyed by several of her cousin's friends.

Erik admired her.

She was the eldest, and her voice was unmatched, even by her mother, which meant not only was she going to inherit the role of Prima Donna one day, but also the opera itself. Sure, he could give it to Charlie… or the twins Tristan and Dorian, or even his youngest could stand to inherit something, at only two feet tall with a bright smile, he doubted Adagio (actually christened Gustave Adagio) would care at the moment, so far in the future it didn't matter either, but Grace! She was his everything, his first born and only little girl, Erik had been obsessed with her since her birth. Not only was she talented, but bright as well.

When his father had died a few years back, Erik had been heartbroken. His father had championed him from the start, and while the opera had almost always been Erik's to run… it actually being his in deeds and names wasn't right.

No, it was his father's and always would be. Charles had been the man of the household, his teacher, his advisor, and everything in between. And in their older years… Charles had been his friend. Erik missed him dearly, as the new owner of the Palais Garnier and inheritor to a plethora of money.

Just a few weeks after he'd died, Charlie in his lap as he played music to settle the twins, Christine announced to him that she was to have another child. And so Gustave Adagio came into the world and brought him back from the edge of the line after his father's death.

Christine had helped tremendously, of course she had, and so had his children, but a life being taken so soon… and then another to fill in the gap had been exactly the medicine he needed.

Raoul had spent months consoling Marcy and Cateline, though Cateline had been the stronghold for everyone until the funeral was over. Then, as her should-have-been-husband was laid in the ground, her resolve crashed. Erik remembered it vividly through his teary eyes, and they'd all rushed to her, doing their best to support the mother they all so dearly cared for.

Jesper, to Grace, Rapheal, Charlie, and nearly everyone else's disappointment, never married to give them more family. He seemed to revel in the bachelor life, and while it didn't matter to Erik, for he was complacent to his sibling's actions, Jesper never had seemed inclined to women.

Erik made sure that Grace knew that she was the future of this opera house, and he never let her forget it. Sometimes, Christine worried that he burdened her with this knowledge, but Erik did not think so, as his daughter had never mentioned anything of type. In fact, she seemed pleased to be the upcoming owner… even if that was years off, for Erik had no plan for death anytime soon.

As tasking as family life was, he would have encouraged it to anyone who would listen, and when a new arrival interested in the security position Erik had put up fliers for came in, he was sure to mention it.

"As a family man, which is the pride and joy of my life, even before this opera house, you must understand that I think it is of utter importance to me that there is some safety precautions in place. Wars loom, Monsieur, and I daresay that I would not want any of the wrong sort to pop in here and think that I run a propaganda stand. I do not have a soap box in the lobby."

The man nodded, his determination to receive such a lowly job perplexing to Erik. He had, after all, been the chief of police in his home country.

"What happened that made you leave Persia? If you do not mind sharing, Monsieur Khan."

Erik leaned against his desk, hands clutching the edges as the man sat stiff backed in his chair, looking up at his face. He hadn't even flinched when he'd seen it, and Erik suspected that he had seen worse things in the strange land he was from. All the news he'd heard from that region was not entirely pure.

"I out-lived my usefulness, simple as that, and since I do not care for death so soon, here I came."

"Why Paris?"

"Why not?" The man retorted, and with a subtle grin, Erik felt another small hole in his chest patch itself up at the prospect of a new friend.

"Well, I have received several applications, I will admit. I think that I shall look no further, however, Monsieur Khan. You seem overqualified, at any rate."

"I crave simplicity," Khan said with a smile and stood, shaking Erik's own bony hand firmly.

And so became his new best friend.

Erik and Nadir got on thick as thieves, and Christine could hardly handle them both. Nadir was roughly Cateline's age, and this revelation was surprising to Erik, considering he felt he was more the forty-six that he himself was. Regardless, he couldn't have asked for a better man for the job.


	8. Set 8

When Nadir got a few years older, he informed Erik that they were probably best hiring a new security detail. For, while his mind was still sharp, his agility wasn't exactly what it used to be. Of course, he wouldn't hear of that and decided to hire a guard _only_, who would work for Nadir.

Grace was twenty-two, her beauty paramount, and a fine suitor that had yet to ask for her hand. She performed at the opera house, and Erik was very proud of his baby girl. Charlie was a wild spirit, attending University and the conservatory simultaneously. The twins, who were far younger than their eldest brother, were in their teens, fifteen a chaotic number that Erik was sometimes guilty in leaving Christine with. Then there was little Adagio, their small miracle who was six. He was often mistaken for Grace's child, to which she would only laugh and direct the admirers to her parents.

This was his family, including the not so pesky Persian, the de Chagny's, and of course, his brother, Jesper, and Cateline. It was the way he liked it, but when he hired the new security guard, fine suited and matching his own height, Erik never expected for this boy to become one of his family as well.

To be completely fair to him, Michel Pontes was a relatively strong and regular man, though his personally was obvious that he knew he was handsome.

Which was why Erik found it highly amusing when his daughter, on the arm of her suitor, looked at him with nothing more than a glance one evening as they held a charity dinner for the patrons and their families. Monsieur Pontes was there with Nadir to keep things in line, though no one really expected the high names to go out of their usual realm of civility.

They were all seated at several tables laid out over the lobby, the beautiful surroundings and warming music from the balcony a wonderful way to raise money with the up and high of society.

Nadir and Cateline were talking gently, mingling with the rest of the crowd, Jesper was with most of the businessmen talking strategy, Raoul and Marcy were in the throws of a dance, and Erik held Christine to his side gently while they talked with their seasoned patrons.

Of course, his attention was on his new hire, this being his first real employment after his training, and Erik could see his eyes on his daughter. Grace was caught up in the man with her, her fancy dress he'd put a wrench in his wallet to pay for was complimenting the gold vest he wore.

Erik liked Francois, for what it was worth. He was respectable, and he had a title even, which was more than he ever could have asked for in a son-in-law… if the boy came to him with the question.

Charlie was at home with the twins and Adagio, so at least they were taken care of. He, on the other hand, was being taken care of by his wife.

"Not much longer for supper, I suppose?"

"No," he said quickly, leaning down to kiss her as Grace passed by Monsieur Pontes again, not looking at all amused by his smirk.

His pride in her never failed.

His daughter disappeared in the people, and Erik was forced to continue to mingle until Nadir came over and saved him, announcing that their supper was finally ready.

They were seated at their own table as a family, including the de Chagny's, and Erik glared at Nadir as he tried to smooth-talk his mother with little success. It may have been many years since Charles had died, but she still wore black in mourning for the man who she had loved… and his son as well.

As everyone settled, though, he realized that Francois and Grace were still missing.

"Have you seen our daughter, darling?"

Christine visibly shivered at the voice in her ear but turned towards him, worried already.

"No, where is she?"

Erik shook his head, "This isn't like her."

Christine nodded, about to get up herself when he shook his head, placing a hand on her shoulder as he stood, telling his lovely wife that he would go to look for them.

It didn't take long, for he was practically ran over by her, his usually composed and worriless daughter discomposed into sobs.

"Grace, what is the matter?" he asked quickly, attempting to glean information from her as quickly and efficiently as possible.

"I… I don't know, one minute we were stealing a second to ourselves, the next he was… _groping _me! Oh, Papa!"

She hugged him tighter. Erik sighed, feeling anger rush up through his body as he wanted to alert Nadir and Monsieur Pontes to the danger that was now his daughter's assailant. It was funny how quickly someone could have changed in such an instant.

"Was he drunk? Where did he go, my sweet?"

She hiccuped, nuzzling into his chest before answering, "I don't know. Drunk though, I think. He definitely wasn't acting right, but I never want to see him again!"

"And you won't," Erik assured his daughter, petting her hair and kissing the crown of her head, his love for her obvious. "Let's give you to Maman, hm? So I may handle the situation properly?"

"Please."

Erik escorted her to the tables where Christine fretted over her, as did Cateline, and he took Nadir and Michel Pontes by the ear to run down that boy who'd harmed his daughter.

"Tell him he is not welcomed back."

The men nodded, rushing through the doors in hopes to find him at his residence.

He bristled. What a night it had turned out to be.

* * *

Grace did not at all like Michel Pontes, and it was very obvious to Erik who merely laughed it off. Pontes was smitten with his daughter, and despite the fact that he should be concerned… he couldn't bring himself to be so. She pushed him away so beautifully that Erik need not be worried. Besides, it was most likely an attraction that would one day fade.

Until, of course, the one day Pontes finally seemed to say the right thing.

Erik did not expect the security detail to interrupt the game of cards he and Nadir were playing, but they welcomed him in.

"I was losing anyways," Nadir remarked to the boy's apology, folding his cards over.

"And I was bluffing," Erik said with a smirk, folding his cards down as well.

Nadir gawked, but the sheer nerves emanating off of their security was not able to be missed.

"Is something the matter?"

Michel was in no way a small man, he stood nearly as tall as Erik himself did, but now he looked shrunk and timid, even with all the muscle and height.

"Well, Monsieur," he added firmly, but Erik had no time for formalities and urged him on, "As I am sure you are aware, I have fancied your daughter for the past few months, ever since I saw her the first time, really. And, well, recently her and I had a true conversation in which I think I may have discovered that I am… in love with your daughter."

The entire day changed for Erik in this moment, for not even one of her suitors before this had ever told him such things, let alone approached him with it before they were courting. And this poor boy, who seemed so sincere about the ordeal, Erik felt pity for him. Christine had been no easy woman to attain, but she'd held the same feelings for him as well. Grace did not care for him, and he knew Michel Pontes well. They were on somewhat friendly terms, and the boy was cocky, to say the very least. He knew what he was good at, and such things had never really appealed to his daughter. There was no way she would agree to him.

"And why are you bringing me this information?"

Pontes fumbled.

"Careful, boy," Nadir muttered from Erik's side.

When he'd learned about the lost family Nadir had suffered, it had not taken long for him to adopt Erik's own children. Grace was certainly not Nadir's favorite, but that's because Erik would not let her be. She was completely his, but the protectiveness did not loosen in either body.

"I would like to be granted permission to ask to court your daughter, Monsieur Destler."

This gave the father pause.

"You want permission to _ask_? Not to court?"

"Yes, of course. It is completely up to her, is it not? It is her life she will be changing should things go well?" Michel rambled, his voice trailing off and his face scrunching up like he'd said the wrong thing but was confused as to how it was wrong.

Erik had been poised to say no, and Nadir was gently shaking his head from his side, not seeing the difference in the word choice at all. Which was probably why both jaws fell to the floor when he gave him his consent.

"Uh, thank," Michel cleared his throat, "Thank you, Monsieur. I don't know what I was expecting, but it wasn't your approval. Is it too forward to ask for advice on _how _to now ask Mademoiselle Grace?"

Erik chuckled, and Nadir snorted, but he only gave him a few words, "Simply use what you did to ask me."

He nodded, looking roughly thirteen different emotions at once, and he couldn't hold back the laugh that came when he bolted from the room.

"Why in Allah's name would you go and let him ask her? He's wonderful security, but I doubt Grace will say yes, why break his heart? Not saying that his boastful attitude couldn't use the knockdown."

Erik returned to his desk and began to shuffle the cards there, a smug look on his face.

"No, I quite think that if she says yes, we shall have a different man on our hands. Now sit back down and lose."

* * *

Grace was running about the theater, doing errands for her father as the day progressed by quickly.

She put her entire heart and soul into the Paris Opera which her father owned by inheritance. She adored the walls that her grandfather had built, the beautiful performances her mother had been a part of, and the wonderful music that wafted through the place fostered by her amazingly talented father.

Grace looked forward to her father relinquishing this place to her every day… but only as long as it meant his good health and want to retire.

The bustling was familiar and wonderful to her, and no task displeased her when she was in the opera house whether it be singing or menial work. That is, of course, as long as Michel Pontes wasn't loitering around.

He had a fancy for her, it was as obvious as a fading diva's flat notes, but she did not care for him that way. He was boastful, always seeming to know what is best and having a wonderfully unpleasant demeanor. Sure, he looked nice, but Grace knew that neither herself nor her father ever took his words or come-ons seriously.

Pontes was only lucky that he didn't ask her father for permissions of any kind, for she knew that he would only laugh in his face as a response.

It seemed she always cursed herself, though, because just as she began to think of him, the man was approaching her.

He looked nervous, and Grace wondered briefly if he was there to apologize.

"Mademoiselle Destler, may I have a moment of your time?" He was out of breath, as though he'd run there.

She would not have been surprised.

She couldn't exactly make an excuse right now, as she was in between jobs and was actually ahead of schedule. Not that he needed to know, but her family had always taught her that lying was the bane of anyone's existence.

"If you wish, Monsieur Pontes," she acquiesced.

"Thank you."

Slightly shocked by his manners, Grace let him take her arm and guide her towards a corner of the opera. Considering he was security, he needed to know it as well as she did, if not better, and she shifted uncomfortably as he did the same. It was… interesting.

"I wanted to ask you, Mademoiselle Destler, if you would like to go for dinner with me?"

While something in her knew this was coming, Grace faltered. Had her father really given his permission for him to court her? She would be livid with him if so! Her father knew very well that she did not like Michel Pontes.

"And I assume my father gave you permission for this?"

She was barely able to bite back the anger.

Scrunched brows confused her, however, and Michel shook his head quickly, "No, your father only gave consent that I ask, which is all I asked for. Whether or not you choose to go is up to you."

Grace stilled. She'd never been given a real chance to refuse before, but then again, all the men who had told her they got permission to take her to dinner she had liked. Michel Pontes… not so much, but the way he was going about it wasn't exactly… poor manners per se.

Grace looked at the admittedly attractive man with a fleeting eye. He hadn't ever quivered before her like this, and some part of her felt bad for him, his confidence usually paramount.

Her decision was easy.

"You will pick me up at seven on Friday, and not a moment later."

She didn't give him a chance to celebrate.

* * *

Grace was keeping a secret that evening, her hand over her flat stomach with affection that ran deep inside of her. She'd been married to the love of her life for only a few months then since it hadn't taken long for her and Michel to realize they were meant to be.

Well, it had taken her a lot longer than it had him.

He showed her a different side of himself that Friday so long ago, and the way he loved her was something she'd never experienced before. Besides that, he was probably one of the only men in her life who was not afraid of her father.

Even her Uncle Raoul wasn't totally comfortable with him.

If someone had told her a year ago that she would be with the opera house's pompous security guard, married and having his child… well, she would have fainted on the spot! Of course, now, Grace could see herself nowhere else, and she was content to be in that place.

Week by week, she was taking more duties on at the opera. Her father looked ready to retire any day now, and her grandmother even more so as she settled comfortably into a "not-relationship" with Nadir. Since she'd been several years younger than her grandfather, it made a lot of sense to Grace that she would live past him and still be allowed the joys in life.

Her younger siblings were all getting slightly older as the time went on, and it was sort of odd to think that she was going to have a child just like her mother had. Helping with the boys was never a fuss, so Grace felt prepared for the future to come.

Of course, nothing could ever really prepare someone for having a child.

She had told no one of the secret yet, especially Michel who would tie her to the bed the moment he found out. Their family history of birth was not poor in the slightest, but he had this over-protectiveness over her that rivaled even his now-endearing ego.

It was a new year to come that evening, and the annual ball where she'd only two years ago had her heart broken by that foul man who she'd spent far too much of her time with. Grace was more than happy to make new memories.

Charlie was finally at the ball that year considering he was done with the Conservatory and now stood in as the new director, and the twins were also in attendance. Tristan was dancing with as many girls as possible, and Dorian was taking as many dances as he could with the girl who lived just down the street from them all, a playmate they'd had for years but he took an extra special liking to. Adagio, the sweet little eight-year-old boy that he was, was most likely already asleep on Cateline's lap. Her nor Nadir were there that evening, deciding that it was too much noise for them both.

The master plan was to tell someone floating around in the theater that she was expecting and see who would find out first in the family. If it was one of her brothers, it would not stay secret for long, but if it was her mother, Grace knew that she could possibly get away with it the whole evening. She was giddy with anticipation.

Grace went out from her little hiding spot to finally mingle, telling the first couple she talked to by herself the lovely surprise.

To her great surprise, her father came to her first, though she wasn't entirely sure what it was about due to how stoic he could be. While his face was not the ideal handsome, he made it almost look so, and she hated how easily he kept what he felt off his features. Neither she nor her mother were good at such a feat.

"Grace Christine Destler, how is your evening going?"

"Fantastic," she said with a smile, missing the days when she used to hang off her Papa's arm. Soon, however, there would be some little one doing that to Michel.

"And does that feeling have anything to do with someone congratulating me on the idea of being a grandfather?" His distaste for the word came forward first, but the fact that he was almost bouncing on his heels clued Grace into the fact that he was not disappointed.

"So you're first!" She lept in for a hug, "Oh, Papa, I'm going to be a mother! Can you believe it?"

"Hardly," he huffed, "And does the soon-to-be-father know?"

"I've no idea," Grace replied as she pulled back, her smile unable to be pushed away any longer.

Her father shook his head, however.

"And why does Michel not know, Grace? Do you not think he should be the first to know?" He wondered with a raised brow.

She paused for a moment. Michel didn't need to know things like that unless they were for the opera house's safety. As long as he knew when the time mattered, he hadn't ever been upset with her, and she knew the joy would overshadow any hard feelings if they even arose in the first place.

"I'm not worried, Papa. He'll be thrilled, and then I won't get him to shut up about it!"

"Well, I cannot disagree with you there. He knows what he knows and proclaims it with pride."

Grace smiled, leaning into her papa, eliciting a side-glance from her mother who was over in an instant, the buzz enough to have finally reached her, then, not wanting to be left out of the family reunion, Tristan and Dorian were by their sides in an instant. They discovered her secret, and the game was over. Michel found out almost immediately after, the crowd parting as the large man rushed towards his very happy wife. People wondered how someone so small could look so happy as Michel lifted Grace into the air with a thrilling kiss to complete the spectacle.

Erik only pursed his lips in distaste, leaning over for his own kiss with his wife.

* * *

There was happiness in these days and lives that were so vividly changed by one life having the audacity to let it grow as it should. No cages and no whips, no deaths and no torture, no locks and most certainly not tolerance for hate. How pleased Charles was to see from the heavens the prosperity of his son… the boy deserved no less.


End file.
